A Bit Warmer Than I Would Have Guessed
by deinvati
Summary: Eames orders a cleaning bot but gets a sex bot instead. The Arthur model isn't due out on selves for two years but in his excitement he decides to uh try out the goods. He opens it and now he can't return it, not even when he finds out this model insists he's at work and isn't going to have sex on the job. Arthur/Eames Slash, Android!Arthur AU
1. Chapter 1

A Bit Warmer Than I Would Have Guessed

Title from the poem "How the Cynic Falls in Love" by Kait Rokowski

When I realized I loved you  
it was not romantic  
Not flush with pink roses & wine  
but rather normal  
Rather standing in line at CVS  
clutching a four pack of peanut butter cups  
& cold medicine  
It was a quiet realization  
Like checking the weather I was currently standing in  
"Huh. It's a bit warmer  
than I would have guessed."

* * *

 _Holy bollocks_ , Eames thought, staggering through his flat to the sofa and giggling to himself. _I really need to clean._

He picked up the takeaway container balanced on the arm of the sofa and moved it to the coffee table. There. That looked better. But there was a pair of trainers under the table, so he should just chuck them towards the bedroom. _I'll put them away later,_ he promised himself.

But then in between throwing one shoe and finding the other, his head was awfully heavy and the couch was super soft-looking, and he would just think about all this cleaning tomorrow.

* * *

 ***BeepBeepBeep. BeepBeepBeep. BeepBeepBeep.***

"Grrmmgk," Eames groaned into the rug. "I'm up, I'm up."

 ***BeepBeep—***

"I'm UP! Shut the fuck up!"

He wasn't. He'd rolled over in the night and landed in an awkward pile beside the sofa, his face pillowed on a single trainer with his phone in his hand, squashed underneath him. The alarm deactivated anyway and Eames slept the sleep of the severely inebriated and soon to be unemployed.

* * *

 ***KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK***

"Delivery for Mr. Eames!"

"Grrmmgk."

"Mr. Eames! I need your signature!"

Eames hauled himself up on shaky limbs and staggered to where his landlord was attempting to knock down his door. "Alright, alright, one bloody minute."

He deactivated the locks and cracked the door, hissing at the strip of sunlight which hit him in the face.

"Mr. Eames! It is a delivery for you. I am required to obtain your signature!"

The short, curly-haired man smiled, his teeth white in his black beard, and Eames tried not to hate him. He thrust a digital pad at Eames, who pressed his thumbprint to the screen and forced his eye open as he held it up for the retinal scan.

"Thank you, Mr. Eames! Where would you like me to put it?"

Eames blinked at him, scratching his chest and trying to make his saliva glands work again. "Mmm? Jus' bring it here, yeah?"

"Of course, Mr. Eames! Thank you! I'll bring it right up!"

It took Eames from closing the door to falling back on the sofa to realize he hadn't been expecting a delivery.

 ***Ping!***

Eames groaned at his phone. "Check for new messages."

 ***You have one! New! Email!***

Eames pulled a sofa pillow over his face. "Read," he mumbled.

" **Thank you for your order! Your expedited shipping costs have been charged to the account on file! Your Rosie!Bot cleaning robotics android will be arriving today! Please verify—"**

"Wait, stop. What?"

Eames pulled the pillow away from his face, a sinking sense of dread pooling in his churning stomach. He turned his phone over and flipped through his recent purchases.

"God. Damn. Oh, fuck me sideways, I spent HOW MUCH?" Eames stared at the receipt, a smiling woman pointing to his tracking number, and rushed for the loo.

* * *

There was something about getting a package in the mail. Even if it cost an insane amount of money, and even if you weren't sure you wanted it, it was exciting to open the package.

He'd had to borrow a crowbar from Yusuf, who was probably expecting to never see it again, but Eames would show him. He had every intention to bring it back down. Just as soon as he figured out what the hell was going on.

The shipping crate was gigantic, and after tearing through the packing materials, Eames was looking at the plain brown cardboard box, and a packing receipt listing model number, make name, and purchase order number. But there was a problem. Aside from the fact that Eames had spent half his yearly salary, which he'd recently been informed he would no longer be receiving, on a robot to clean his house, he'd very clearly purchased the Rosie!Bot cleaning android, a fun and helpful addition to any modern household!

This, however, was not the Rosie!Bot. This was the Arthur!Bot "personal recreation" android, a fun and flirty addition to any open-minded household.

"Internet Search," Eames said in a strangled voice.

 ***Bing!***

"Arthur!Bot, U.S. Robotics."

 ***The Arthur!Bot will be released in just two short years! Put in your order now to avoid long wait times! The fully animatronic Arthur!Bot will feature a new operating AI system with more lifelike responses and will come with three enticing outfits! It will also showcase exciting features to enhance your pleasure, including a self-lubricating—***

"Ooookay, that's enough," Eames barked. He sighed.

After 25 minutes on hold with U.S. Robotics Customer Service, Eames' throbbing head was screaming and he decided, " _Fuck it,"_ and opened the box.

* * *

The advertising for Arthur!Bot was somewhat misleading because one of the three outfits was simply a leopard print thong, which didn't count. The other two were a too-tight white v-neck t-shirt with hip hugger skinny jeans, and the final one was a plaid button down and khakis. You know, in case you wanted to take your sex-bot to a wedding as your plus one and he needed something to wear.

So Eames couldn't afford this. And he was absolutely going to send it back. But he was a little… curious. Besides, it wasn't his fault they'd sent the wrong one. Plus, how was he supposed to know that the Arthur!Bot wasn't supposed to be on the shelves for two years? They fucked up. Pure and simple, mate.

And let's be honest. If he'd gotten the Rosie!Bot, he'd probably have had her clean the flat before he sent her back. So what he was considering wasn't really that unreasonable.

Arthur-the-sex-bot was heavy as fuck and not all that easy to get out of his crate.

"Wow, that's really life-like. Alright, come on you bloody... heavy… bugger, Jesus, what do you weigh 25 stone?" Eames panted, before getting smarter and just rolling the crate over and dumping Arthur onto the rug.

There were bits of packing fluff in Arthur's brown hair, and his skinny jeans had ridden a bit low on his hips, but otherwise, he appeared no worse for wear.

"Okay! Arthur, good to meet you, sorry you're facedown for our introduction, but hey, I'm sure you'll get used to that position in your line of work. Now. Let's see…"

Eames dug in the bottom of the crate and unearthed an instruction manual the size of his old chem text and a "Getting Started!" pamphlet. He grabbed the pamphlet.

"Brilliant. Here we are. To activate your new Arthur!Bot… dah dah dah… blah blah, okay, here. Say the following words whilst facing your new recreation bot. Speak slowly and clearly, enunciating to the best of your ability. Only say these words if you… yeah, yeah, good enough. Okay! Let's sit you up here…"

Eames heaved Arthur into a sitting position and leaned him up against the sofa. Then he cleared his throat.

"Cirrus. Socrates. Particle. Decibel. Hurricane. Dolphin. Tulip. Eames. Eames. Eames."

And then Arthur-the-sex-bot blinked.

"Who the fuck are you and what the _fuck_ am I wearing?"

* * *

"Uh, I'm… Eames. I'm Eames. Your owner. Kind of. And those are your clothes. You came with them."

"Owner? What is this, Alabama in the 1700's? And why do I have the sartorial taste of a thirteen-year-old twink?"

Eames blinked. "Uh…"

Arthur looked around. "Ugh. Where are we? Is this a motel? Like… a really bad one?"

"Okay, you are going back just as soon as I can manage it." Eames stood and unbuckled his belt.

Arthur's eyebrows looked a bit alarmed. "What are you doing?"

Eames paused. "Uh. Trying out the goods?"

Arthur's eyebrows just changed to confused.

"Having sex?" Eames tried again.

Arthur raised a dubious eyebrow and looked around the flat.

"Do you… Jesus Christ, I can't believe I have to get consent first. Okay, do you want to have sex? With me?"

"Not particularly."

Eames threw his hands in the air. "Great. That's just great. Are you broken or something?"

"Are you? Aw, is that why you need an android? To help you out?"

"Even better! Condescension. Exactly what a person wants in a recreational pleasure bot. Fine. Do you clean things?"

Arthur snorted. "Do you? Oh, wait, apparently not."

"Great. Perfect. So let me get this straight. You're not going to clean anything and you're not going to have sex with me."

Arthur scowled and stood, his joints whirring for a second and then falling silent. "I am at work, Mr Eames. Try to have a little professionalism. Also, you could take a guy to dinner first. What would your mother say?"

Eames buckled his belt.

* * *

"No, I didn't mean to order it! I told you! And even if I had, you lot sent me the wrong bloody model!"

Eames paced, pulling at his lip, while Arthur explored the flat, scowling at everything and turning things over with a pencil.

"Well, can you just… I don't know, put the money back in my account and I'll send him back?"

He paused. "No, I didn't use him! Jesus, what kind of person do you think I am!"

He listened again. "Yes, I used the imprinting words, but that was only—"

"Well, I didn't read the—"

"Yes, but—"

Eames sighed. "Fine. FINE. Fine, fine, fine, no, I bloody well understand. Yeah, you're sorry, I'm sorry, everyone's sorry. Great, have a nice bloody day. No, thank _you_ for your patronage."

He hung up the phone with a huff and saw Arthur looking at him.

"Do you want me to provide you with the definition of 'patronage', Mr Eames? It seems like you might need it."

"And _you_ ," Eames said, pointing a finger at the android, "can fuck right off."

Arthur sniffed and meandered to explore the bathroom.

"Fuck," Eames whispered, sinking to the couch and holding his aching head in his hands.

 ***Ding!***

"Check for new messages," Eames said miserably.

 ***You have one! New! Voice—***

"PLAY, god, bloody fuck."

"Hey, Eames, it's Ari. Waiting. At the airport. Where you said you'd pick me up. You remember me, right? But hey, listen, If you can't make it, don't worry, there's a guy here with a mullet who's offered to share a cab because he's positive we're staying at the same hotel. He's also offered to buy me a pair of red high heels because he says I'd look fantastic in them, and you know what? I don't own any, and him hinting that he needs my shoe size is really starting to entice me. So I may go do that, so that's probably where I'll be if I'm not here when you come by. Give me a call though if you want to do dinner sometime while I'm in town to see you. Love youuuuuuu, byeeeeee!"

Eames groaned and groped under the sofa for his other trainer.


	2. Chapter 2

"No! You're not coming with me!" Eames grabbed his ident card out of the bowl by the door, which drunk him had apparently had enough sense to put where it belonged.

"Sure, whatever you say, _master_ ," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "But I have a job to do, and I'm probably going to do it."

Eames stared at the android in confusion, frozen in his act of trying to flatten his hair. "And what, exactly, is it that you think your job is, pray tell?"

Arthur's head cocked to the side and he looked like he was considering. "I uphold the three laws of robotics. That is my function. I am a robot."

Eames gaped at him. " _That's_ your job. Be a robot."

Arthur frowned, thinking. "Yes."

Eames rolled his eyes. "Oh, my… whatever. Come on, I'm already late."

Arthur followed him to the car, where Eames almost forgot to unlock the passenger door, and Eames fiddled with the dash wires until he overrode the speed cap function. Hopefully Ari was still talking to him when he got there.

"I can download the fastest route, if you need it," Arthur offered, only slightly derisive.

"My phone can do that."

Arthur considered that, recalculating. "Yes, but I offer a more lifelike interaction."

"Oh, goody. No bloody thank you."

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Ari was waiting for him outside the building, and she beamed at him when he pulled up.

"Sorry, love, I'm so, so sorry," Eames said, cuddling her tight. "Can you forgive me?"

She gave him an exasperated grin as he turned on his most charming smile. "This is not my first Eames rodeo. I should have called you when I landed. You okay? You look like hell."

"I'm alright, rough night. Come on, get in."

She pulled open the passenger door to see Arthur, buckled in and looking at her dismissively.

"Oh! Hello! Sorry, I didn't realize…"

"Arthur, get out, Jesus. You can sit in the back."

Ari looked alarmed. "Oh, no! It's fine, Eames! I'm sorry, Arthur, was it? I can sit in the back. It's no big deal."

"Arthur!" Eames barked.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "She said it was fine."

* * *

"So, Arthur! You're American! Where are you from? How do you know Eames?"

Eames gripped the steering wheel. "Arthur is—"

"I'm a colleague of Eames'," Arthur said smoothly, turning in his seat to address Ariadne, and he smiled kindly at her. And would you look at that. Arthur!Bot was equipped with dimples.

Eames frowned and shook his head. "A colleague? Arthur, you're an android."

Arthur's dimples disappeared as he turned to Eames. "Yes, Mr Eames, I am aware. Self-aware, you might say."

Eames opened his mouth to retort, but Ari broke in with an excited, "Oooh, you _are_!? Ohmygosh, I've never met a new model android before! Wow, you are so lifelike! I can't even tell!"

Arthur looked a bit smug. "Thank you. I apologize for the clothing. I was not offered any others."

"Eames!" Ariadne frowned at him. "You bought an android, a _real_ android, and you didn't give him clothes?"

"I didn't…! He _came_ with… I didn't buy him! I mean, I did, but I didn't mean to!"

"Mr Eames here has been having some trouble trying to get me returned," Arthur offered, turning large, round, chocolate puppy dog eyes on Ari and Eames bristled.

"Okay, I can't deal with this. You are a sex bot, Arthur, a sex bot. THAT is your function. To pleasure humans sexually. And you suck at it."

Arthur shrugged. "So do you, apparently."

Eames engaged the auto drive so he could rub his temples. The silence from the back seat was deafening.

"Just say it," Eames gritted out.

Ariadne didn't say anything, just burst out with a snort that she'd been holding in, and doubled over with laughter.

Eames sighed. "I hate you."

* * *

Arthur was sitting in his armchair and reading his paper when Eames woke up the next morning.

Eames grumbled, reaching for the kettle. "Do you sleep?"

"Mmm, no," Arthur replied without looking up, "but if it makes you uncomfortable, I can pretend."

He'd changed into the plaid shirt and khakis, every button precisely fastened and tucked in neatly, and the trousers perfectly pressed. Eames wasn't even sure he owned an iron. He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs and grabbed the Marmite to make breakfast.

"Do you eat?"

Arthur flipped the page. "I can process small amounts of biological material."

Eames paused, butter knife in hand. "So… do you want some food?"

Arthur looked at him blandly. "I'll specify. I can process between two teaspoons and two tablespoons of biological material in a sitting."

"Ah." Eames refused to blush at that and went back to his toast. "Ariadne up yet?"

"Apparently not," Arthur drawled, still reading. Eames tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling and count to ten.

"So!" he tried again, bringing his toast and tea to the sofa. "What are you going to do today?"

But Arthur stilled at that, his expressive eyebrows furrowing and he tugged lightly at one of his adorably too-large ears. The designers really did know what they were doing when they opted on that feature, Eames decided.

"What… will you be doing?" Arthur asked.

Eames took a large bite of toast. "Ari wanted to visit some museum," he mumbled, then swallowed, brushing crumbs from his lips. "But until then, I'll be looking for a job."

Arthur closed the paper decisively. "I'll look with you."

Eames scoffed. "I think I can find my own job, mate."

Arthur rolled that around in his mouth, then said, "I can find a job too, mate."

Eames couldn't help the chuckle that rolled out of him at Arthur saying 'mate' in his American accent. "You? What are you going to do?"

Arthur lifted a cool eyebrow. "What are _you_ going to do?"

"Not look in the paper, that's for sure." He propped his heel on the coffee table and swallowed his last bite of toast, licking the Marmite from his thumb. Arthur's eyes tracked him. "It's about who you know in this town."

"What's about who you know?" Ari asked, scratching her head and yawning.

Eames put his foot down so she could walk past and curl up on the sofa next to him, putting her feet in his lap. "Nothing, love. Just talking about Robert." He rubbed her feet absently, sipping his tea.

"Hmm," she hummed, eyes closed and fist curled under her cheek. "What's he up to these days?"

"Guess I'll find out when I call him."

Arthur crossed his legs. "We are job hunting today."

Ari opened her eyes and sat up at that, concern on her face. "Oh, no, Eames! Again?"

Eames scowled at Arthur. "It just happened yesterday, and it's fine, Ari. Robert owes me one, I'm just going to call him before we pop over to the museum. It'll get sorted. Do you want some tea?"

"Uh uh," she said, frowning and pulling her feet out of Eames' hands. "I'm getting in the shower and you're calling him Right. Now. You're not going anywhere until you have a job."

"Ari…"

"No!" she called back over her shoulder, closing the door to the guest room behind her. Her muffled voice came through as she yelled, "CALL HIM, EAMES!"

Eames frowned and put his foot back on the coffee table. "Thanks a fucking lot, _Arthur_."

* * *

"No, she's not my _wife_ ," Eames replied, shocked. "You sound like my mum. She's my best mate, okay?"

Arthur shrugged, nonplussed. Ari had already left for the museum by herself when Robert hadn't answered his phone and repeat texts were still not marked at read. Eames was folding paper airplanes out of the bills on the coffee table and aiming for the bin in the kitchen, which was technically cleaning up, so it counted.

"She obviously cares for you, she's comfortable with you. I've read her facial responses when she looks at you. It wasn't an unreasonable question, Mr Eames."

Eames pursed his lips. "You don't have to call me Mr Eames."

"Sure, master," Arthur said smoothly.

"God damn… just Eames, okay?"

Arthur shrugged again. "So, if you don't have a job, how will you afford me?"

Eames stilled, then scraped the blunt edge of his nail over the edge of the creases on his current airplane, pressing too hard so the paper was wavy. "I… don't know," he confessed reluctantly. "But the bird on the phone said you were imprinted on me, so they can't re-sell you. Which means they won't take you back. They'll just take something else."

Arthur looked around the flat skeptically. "What else?"

Eames looked at him, sighing through his nose. "I don't know, Arthur. Do you have any extra kidneys we can sell?" He stood, chucking the airplane in the bin on the way to his bedroom.

Arthur followed. "No," he said. "I don't have any kidneys at all. Is that something I should inquire about obtaining extras for you?"

Eames yanked open drawers of his wardrobe and barked a mirthless laugh. "No, that would actually be counterproductive, thanks." He removed his shirt and tossed it in the hamper, well, towards the hamper anyway, and reached for his waistband before he realized Arthur was still standing there. Watching.

"Uh…"

Arthur blinked.

"Jesus, I can't believe I..." Eames muttered to himself, whisking his pants and trackies off, ignoring the android in the doorway. "Not even _alive_ , for fucks sake."

He kicked his underwear off his foot and caught it on the first try, a smug smile on his face as he tossed those toward the hamper too. Then he dressed quickly, his second best trousers and jacket, and a decent button down with a wide collar. It didn't choke him and didn't require a tie, two components of a decent shirt in his book. He could see Arthur in his peripheral vision, arms crossed, watching. Probably judging. He smoothed the shirt over his stomach.

"We can walk towards Robert's building. He's probably there, maybe I can catch him."

Arthur just nodded and leaned against the door frame, his face unreadably neutral. Eames wondered at himself that he found it odd-looking on the robot. He grabbed his ident card and locked up behind him.

* * *

They took the shortcut through the park, and there was an ice cream vendor on the way. Eames stopped and ordered a vanilla cone, thumbing a drop of sweat from his temple. If they could roboticize the weather, Eames would be all for it.

Arthur kept pace with him as he strolled down the tree-lined path, a comfortable silence between them. Arthur didn't even look annoyed, for once. His brown eyes tracked everything, and he would sometimes tilt his head, like he was searching his databanks.

"Are you thinking about something?" Eames asked between licks.

"No," Arthur said easily, watching a small girl scamper past them. "Processing."

Eames shook his head and took another bite, which promptly broke the cone, and he had to scramble to keep it from landing on his clothes. Which, of course, was when the little girl ran back across the path in front of them and tripped, scraping her knee.

"Oh, oh, oh," Eames said, squatting down. "Are you alright, love?"

The girl wailed. "Mummy!"

There was a small well of blood on her skin, and when she noticed, her wailing intensified.

Eames, his hands covered in ice cream, looked about for potential mum material, which was when he saw the woman rushing toward them, and the girl reached for her, sobbing.

"She fell," Eames offered and the woman whisked her daughter away, ignoring him and shushing her with pets and kisses.

Eames frowned at his hands, licking the trail of melted ice cream off his knuckles. "Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, sacrifice your body to keep humans from being hurt?"

Arthur looked at him placidly. "I believe you're referring to Asimov's three laws of Robotics. One: a robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Two: a robot must —"

"Yeah," Eames interrupted, frustrated with his cone, "through inaction blah blah. Seems like you could have prevented that one."

Arthur regarded him with his hands in his pockets. "And how far does that extend? Do I have a radius for scraped knees? Should I go out searching for humans in harm?"

Eames frowned at him but Arthur just looked back. "No, but in your sight line should count."

Arthur shrugged. "She's fine."

"Yes, but she was harmed."

"How harmed? When does this kick in, specifically? Does this count for emotional harm too or just physical? Do I have to worry about hurting your feelings, Eames?"

Eames glared in disbelief. "Well, I don't know, you're the one whose job it is to 'be a robot'. Does that matter what kind of harm if it's in your power to stop it?"

Arthur snorted. "In that case, your ice cream was a poor financial decision and is going to go straight to your waistline."

Eames binned the rest of the cone. "Arthur, seriously. What are you good for?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, master, would you like a blowjob?"

"Jesus, Arthur!" Eames said, looking around quickly. "Little ears!"


	3. Chapter 3

Eames relaxed in the chair, ankle propped on his knee, smiling into Robert's annoyed face. "I can't see how it's a problem, mate."

"And I can't see how it's my problem, Eames." 

Eames shrugged in his pretty face. "Doesn't have to be. But I figure you owe me, and since you've probably got postings, well…" He spread his hands.

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses and then resettling them precisely. "You keep saying that, but I still don't see how I owe you anything."

"Well, it's somewhat your fault I'm jobless, but more importantly—"

"My fault?!"

"— more importantly, you have jobs. And I need one."

"Two," Arthur broke in from the chair next to him.

There was a pause. "Who is this again, Eames?"

Eames sighed. "If you have an extra job emptying bins or some such, we'll take an extra job."

Robert just gaped at them both, looking like he wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten roped into this meeting. He folded his hands on top of his blotter.

"Eames," he said, his voice calm and rational. Eames smiled. "You got drunk all by yourself. No one forced you to get drunk. Also, somewhat related, no one forced you to sleep through your alarm and miss work. Just because I was with you—"

"— buying shots," Eames supplied, still smiling happily.

Robert sighed. "Buying shots," he agreed, "does not mean I owe you a job."

"Robert, even you aren't rich enough to turn down free shots. It's just not done, my friend. But irregardless," Eames said, smirking inwardly at the way Arthur and Robert both winced, "you have jobs that need filled. Ergo, here we are."

Robert licked his lips and blinked slowly. "Fine. You can drop off résumé— er, CVs with Phyllis on your way out. If anything opens up, we'll call you."

Eames beamed at him. "Perfect, mate, ta."

He stood and shook Robert's hand, and Robert, his face tight, gave a perfunctory shake to both of them without rising. He was already back to work before his door closed behind them.

Eames strolled through the maze of cubicles to where a grey-haired battle-axe of a woman was doing five things at once underneath a nameplate which read, "Phyllis."

"Phyllis, love," Eames said, all smiles and charm. "Eames? And Arthur?"

"From five minutes ago. I remember," she said dryly, stapling a stack of papers together. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Eames grinned. "We talked to Robert about the jobs and he said yes!"

She paused, wheels turning, then took her half-glasses off to let them hang against her ample bosom. "What jobs?"

"The two most recent postings!" Eames said. "He took a look at our CVs and said we'd be a brilliant fit, and to get started on the paperwork."

She raised one perfectly lined eyebrow at him. "For the financial analyst and the CFO. You two."

Eames' smile faltered briefly and then resumed. "Arthur is your CFO man," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "and I'm for FA."

Her other eyebrow joined the first. She pressed her lipstick bleeding lips together. "Mmm hmm." She swivelled her chair and opened her bottom drawer with the toe of her sensible black shoe, the corner of the drawer fitting neatly into the dent in the top of her shoe from where she'd opened it countless times before.

She handed them two file folders. "Fill these out. Bring them back. I'll need copies of your CVs, and as this is the first time in his illustrious career that Robert has ever hired anyone, ever," she stressed, giving Eames a knowing look, "I'll also have you complete these online applications and typing tests, which are required for our 'F.A.' positions."

Eames dropped a wink. "Brilliant, love. We'll bring them back tomorrow, first thing. And might I say what a lovely necklace you're wearing today."

"Mmm hmm," she said. "Thank you. Anything else I can help you with?"

"I think you've seen us right, thank you. We'll just be on our way. Oh, and," Eames leaned closer, dropping his voice, "best not to bother Robert just yet. He's in a bit of a mood. Might want to let it just," he made a clicking noise with his tongue, "blow over."

"Good day, gentlemen," Phyllis said, and Eames dropped one more wink, smiling as they exited.

Arthur, his own file folder in hand, looked amused as they headed back out into the sunshine. "You know she didn't believe a word you said, right?"

Eames shrugged, his good mood making him stride faster. "She liked us."

Arthur cocked his head. "How do you know? I read her facial responses; nothing indicated she felt any kind of connection with you."

Eames grinned at Arthur. "Yeah. But she didn't call the police either. Practically a marriage proposal. I bet you 100 quid," he said, clapping Arthur on the shoulder, "I remind her of a bloke she shagged in her youth."

Arthur smirked. "I accept."

Eames looked at him quizzically.

"Your bet," Arthur clarified. "I'll get us the jobs, and if that's not why she didn't call the police, you owe me 100 quid."

"You're on, mate."

* * *

"Ow, fuck!" Eames burst out, jerking his hand back and flapping it like a twat. The goddamned power converter on the goddamned stove had been shocking him for weeks, but his landlord refused to service it until he paid his rent in full, which was shite because they'd worked out a schedule which benefited them both, the ass. And Eames had put off calling for service on his own. Now that he was unemployed, he found this to be forward thinking and insightful. Yusuf might be able to look at it, but he'd want his crowbar back, and Eames wasn't 100% sure where it was at the moment. It was around here somewhere. It wasn't like it was lost. He just couldn't find it right now.

Arthur looked up from where he'd been typing with uncanny speed on Eames' aging iSlide, the holographic keyboard only flickering occasionally.

"You alright?"

Eames looked at Arthur and took his finger out of his mouth to say, "Lovely, ta. Don't worry. I wasn't "actually" harmed. Don't get up."

Ariadne's eyes flickered between them and Eames ignored her. She'd come back from the museum bubbling with everything she'd learned when she took the tour, and almost half of it was about the actual tour and not the cute tour guide. She was flipping through a magazine and helping Arthur fill in blanks in his CV.

Arthur frowned, but turned slowly back to the keyboard. His fingers tapped a few keys, and then he turned to Eames. "Do you have a set of circuit tools?"

"Yea," Eames said, reaching for a wooden spoon. "In the closet, next to the Allen wrenches."

Arthur rose and disappeared and Eames went back to the dinner he was making, trying something special for Ariadne's visit. He poked at the pan with the spoon handle until he could make sure the stovetop wouldn't shock him. Fucking thing was going to give him a heart attack.

"You want meat with yours, love?"

Ariadne replied without looking up, "It's funny every time, Eames."

Arthur came back into the room, tools in hand. He cocked his head. "Why is that funny?"

Ari snorted and Eames smiled at the saucepan. "It's not funny. It wasn't the first time and it still isn't, five years later," Ari snarked. "I don't eat meat," she explained to Arthur.

Arthur thought about, no, processed that. "Neither do I," he decided.

"Ah, Arthur, a man after my own heart. I knew you were a good one the first time I met you."

"Technically," he said, sitting down, "not a man."

Ari laughed. "Well, me either! We are practically the same person, Arthur!"

Arthur's dimples appeared. "Technically, not a person."

"I won't tell if you won't," Ari said. "What are you doing?"

Eames looked up at Ari's voice, prepared to ask what she thought he was doing, but she was talking to Arthur. He'd flipped over the iSlide and was poking at it with the tools he'd retrieved, face intent. Eames would tell him not to bother because the thing was older than dirt and not worth it, but maybe he had some magical robot abilities.

"If I can get to the optics sensor, it should stop… there."

He fiddled for about a minute and then turned it back over. The keyboard displayed again, and then immediately began its very own keyboard rave by blinking on and off furiously.

Arthur shook his head and turned it back over to undo what he'd just done.

Eames' lips twitched, but he just transferred the pasta to plates and took them to the couch. Ari accepted hers and Arthur watched them out of the corner of his eye.

"So," Eames said, pointing his fork at Arthur, "how are you going to fill in a CV if you came out of a box yesterday?"

Arthur shrugged and Ari said, "He's going to do what everyone else does. He's going to lie through his teeth."

Arthur scowled. "No, I'm just going to list my abilities in such detail that they won't ask."

Eames hummed around his food. "And when they find out you're a bot?"

Arthur's hands stilled and Ari glared at Eames.

"I'm fairly sure the CFO job can be completed by an android and no one will know."

Eames raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of that and went back to his food.

Ari sat her plate down. "Eames, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure."

"In the other room?"

Eames looked at her and she widened her eyes at where Arthur was pretending not to hear them. Eames sighed and stood. This was so daft.

"Okay, what," he said as soon as his bedroom door closed behind them.

"You can't talk to him like that!" Ari said, grabbing Eames' forearm.

"Like what!" Eames exploded, throwing his hands up. "He's a god damned robot, Ari, he doesn't have feelings! And before you say it, I can talk to the hoover any way I like, too!"

Ari gasped like she was actually offended at the thought of him talking down to his hoover and he rolled his eyes. "Look, you don't know he doesn't have feelings, Eames. Something is obviously glitchy in his software— you said so yourself."

"So?"

"So! So what if they changed the way they programmed androids for this model, to give them a more personal connection? You said it's not due out for two more years, right? So maybe it's not perfected yet."

Eames rubbed his temple. "So, what, I have to be friends with him now? My busted sex bot that I didn't even want and doesn't want to have sex and may possibly get me evicted when I can't pay rent at the end of the month?"

Ari looked genuinely annoyed, which was usually a sign to abort. But she was leaving in two days and Eames would still be here. With Arthur. What a fucking nightmare.

"Look, do you remember when we were in the car coming back from the airport—"

"Vividly."

"— and I told him I couldn't tell he was android? Do you remember the look on his face?"

Eames frowned and didn't answer, because he could clearly picture the proud smile that had curved Arthur's bow lips.

"So what!" he hissed. "Just because he looks a certain way doesn't mean he feels things! He told me he studies facial expressions."

"So do you!" Ari hissed back. "You're telling me you don't feel anything when you're scamming your way into another bad decision?"

Eames frowned, angry and a little bit hurt. He'd been holding down a job just fine for seven months before Arthur got here, and he'd had benefits and everything. He'd been determined she'd be proud of him when he'd invited her, and then it had all gone tits up. "Christ," he said, slamming the door open, "you and my mum should have tea sometime. Talk about all the ways little Eamesie has fucked off and left you disappointed. You could talk for hours." He grabbed his jacket.

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked, sounding alarmed.

"I'm going out," Eames snapped, fishing his ident card out of the bowl.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Arthur asked, rising.

"No!"

Arthur blinked and stilled, his face going carefully blank and his hands hanging by his sides. He looked more like a bot than Eames had ever seen him.

"Just…" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I need you to stay with Ari for a bit, okay? Mate?"

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes flickering over Eames before landing on Ari, still standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Eames kissed her on the cheek. "I'll be back. Just need some air."

"Mmm," she hummed, "fine, but I'm eating your food."

Eames shook his head, calmer despite himself as he gave her a small smile. "I put extra meat in mine."

She smiled back and shrugged. "No one's perfect."


	4. Chapter 4

Eames frowned at his name badge. "I cannot believe you qualified for the CFO position," he grumbled.

"How many places can you calculate pi to?" Arthur asked blandly, tightening the tie Eames had loaned him. It looked too wide and awkward with his plaid shirt and khakis, but he was lucky Eames had one at all. He thought he'd thrown them all away.

Eames put on the orange polo shirt the company had couriered over with their acceptance paperwork. Who picked orange? He sighed and picked up his headset. "Are you about ready?"

Arthur had slicked his hair over with water, but Eames could see the hair by his neck and around his ears starting to curl. He'd be back to normal by lunchtime, at the latest. Arthur scowled at his reflection in the mirror and Eames felt a flare of guilt. He ducked into his bathroom and came out with a pomade he used and tossed it to the android. "Here. Use this."

Arthur unscrewed the cap and sniffed it carefully, then looked up at Eames. "This smells like you."

"You can smell?"

Arthur looked offended and stuck two fingers in the small tub. "Of course I can smell. Olfactory receptors are important in many aspects of my functionality." He tried to smear the glob of pomade onto his hair and ended up with all of it in one place.

"Here," Eames sighed, scooping it into his palm and rubbing them together. He smoothed his hands over Arthur's scalp, redirecting wayward hairs and tucking them behind those ears. His thumb brushed over the shell of Arthur's ear and he glanced at Arthur to see if he'd noticed. Arthur was watching him with wide, dark eyes, a flush on the tops of his cheeks making a few, nearly translucent freckles stand out. They were the same height.

"There," Eames said, his voice low, and he withdrew his hands, embarrassed. "You look good. You can use it anytime."

Arthur took a step back and nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Eames replied, stiff formality strange on his tongue. He grabbed his card and lead the way to the car.

The first day was exhausting. Customer Service was never ending and Eames was starting to flinch when the phone buzzed in his ear signalling an incoming call. At least he wasn't on outbound calls like those poor bastards in the south cubicles. They looked like they were going barmy.

When Eames caught up with Arthur at the end of the day, he looked as fresh as he had that morning. Eames felt like he'd been put through a meat grinder.

"Slow first day?" Eames asked as they walked to the car check. He swiped his card and waited for his car to be delivered.

"It was okay, actually," Arthur said happily. "A few meetings, a few proposals, and I spent the afternoon going over the books for the last two decades and putting together a summary report. It was interesting. Did you know that Cap—"

When Arthur broke off and looked straight ahead, Eames realized he'd been glaring. "Sorry," Eames muttered. "Just a long day. Tired. Hungry."

Arthur nodded. "You did well though. I heard you did well, I mean."

Eames looked at Arthur as the car appeared on the retrieval arm. Was he blushing? Could androids blush? "You heard I did well? From who?"

"Whom."

Arthur got in the car, staring through the windshield, but definitely blushing.

"Huh." Eames followed.

* * *

Eames got put on outbound calls the next week. It was even more exhausting than he'd imagined, but what no one had told him was that there was a competition among sales callers, and the top seller got to take home a prize. He had no idea what it was, but every sale he made, he spun in his chair, arms up, and high fived the guy sitting next to him. At first, the barmy outbounds looked at him like he was crazy, but then they started to hold their hands out and grin at him when he got a sale. The first time someone else did the chair spin, he jumped up and ran across the room to high five them.

The second day, he imitated Arthur's accent the whole day to amuse himself. Then he did a Scottish accent, then Australian.

It felt good. He was good at this.

And it felt good at the end of a long, exhausting day, to meet up with Arthur, walk to the car check and talk about their days. Arthur's days sounded dead boring, but he had this little skip in his voice when he talked about it, like he loved looking for other people's mistakes and coming up with long-term "diversified solutions", whatever the fuck that meant. Mostly Eames listened and shared some of the more colorful callers who'd told him to piss off. They made Arthur laugh.

At the end of the first week, Arthur pressed 100 quid into his palm with a grin.

"What's this for?"

Arthur looked embarrassed. "You were right. About Phyllis."

"Ha!" Eames crowed. "Knew it! She seems like a bird with good taste."

"Yeah," was all Arthur said, but he laughed along with Eames as he recounted his most horrible call of the night.

At the end of the second week, Arthur pressed something else into his palm. His paycheque.

"What's this for?"

Arthur shrugged, looking nonplussed. "What am I going to use it for?"

"Anything you want, Arthur."

Arthur looked him in the eye. "Then it's because I wanted to," he said with finality. "Keep it for rent."

So Eames, after gulping at the amount, kept enough for half the rent and utilities and put the rest in a separate account. He wasn't about to steal Arthur's money, especially since he had an income, but it was nice to have a roommate to share expenses, even if Arthur didn't take up many resources. He didn't sleep, although he did charge overnight sometimes, and Eames had started to notice things moved around in the morning. Books and movies had been alphabetized, laundry folded, trash taken out. Eames still tried to pick up, especially after Arthur had sneered at his bathroom and grumbled about 'how can humans live like this' when the bin was overflowing, but the day he woke up and found the power converter on the stove repaired, Eames made a point to pick up after himself.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

"Arthur! The door!"

Eames could hear the muffled conversation over the roar of the water and he hurried out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around himself and grabbing another one to dry his hair, he headed to the living room with a grin.

Three large boxes sat on the coffee table, a bewildered Arthur staring at them.

"These are addressed to me."

"You should probably open them," Eames said smugly.

 ***Ping!***

"Check for new messages," Eames said, watching Arthur gawk at the boxes.

 ***You have one! New! Email!***

Eames grinned at Arthur. "Read."

" **Thank you for your order! Your shipment from Savile Row Suits Emporium has been delivered! If you have any questions or concerns about your order, please contact our 24-hour service hotline."**

Arthur looked at Eames, disbelief apparent in his parted lips, his hands not quite daring to touch the boxes.

Eames said, "Turns out, the US Robotics website had your measurements. So you are now the proud owner of three vintage, bespoke suits. And there should be some shirts in there too. And a few ties. And, uh, those pocket squares? I wasn't sure, but they had them, so…"

Eames trailed off, uncertain now that Arthur wasn't responding, feeling a little silly.

"You, you bought these for me?" Arthur asked, staring at the unopened boxes.

"Well," Eames chuckled nervously, "I used your money, so don't get too excited. And you haven't even opened them yet, so how do you know if you'll like them?"

"I will," Arthur breathed, running a gentle hand over the corner of one box, stroking the side like it was made of crystal. His narrow fingers found the edge of the lid, easing under it slowly and Eames could hear the suck of air as Arthur lifted it away from the bottom. Arthur's shaky intake of breath, his tongue running out to flick over his bottom lip, his look of pure _want_ were affecting the way Eames' trousers fit. He cleared his throat.

"Anyway, I hope they're, uh, good, so. Goodnight."

He didn't flee. He retreated gracefully to his room. And then he wanked himself stupid.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur chose the pale grey suit for the next morning, reading the paper in Eames' chair like he'd been poured into it. God damn, Eames had good taste.

He grinned as he made two sales in a row that afternoon because that put him at the top of the leaderboard for the month. He couldn't wait to tell Arthur.

"Landed another one, eh?" Todd, the guy next to him said. This was the first time Eames had sat by him, but they changed locations every day so that was understandable. "What does that make, five today?"

"Six," Eames grinned and high fived him. Todd laughed.

"Shit, man, that puts you at the top of the board and it's only the 20th. Are you pumped for your prize?"

"I dunno, do I. Not sure what it is yet."

"Oh, no one told you?" Todd laughed. "Don't go buying a new boat yet. It's just pizza."

Eames' smile faltered at his derision. "I like pizza."

Todd shook his head. "Don't know how you stay so positive, man. This job is shit. Can't wait to get out of here."

"Yeah," Eames said, his smile dimming. "Got big plans for the weekend?" he asked, trying to keep his good mood, but then his phone buzzed at him. He pointed to his headset and turned back to his desk. He could feel Todd's eyes on him for the rest of the afternoon.

At the end of the day, Eames was grabbing his stuff and heading to meet Arthur at the car, when Todd stopped him.

"Eames," he said, stuffing his name badge in his pocket and throwing a bag across his chest. "A few guys and I are going to get drinks. Come with us. It'll be 'buy the new guy a shot' night."

"Ohhh, no," Eames said, waving him off with a laugh. "I've sworn off shots. Bad things come from nights where I have too many shots."

Except now he had Arthur, and this job. So… okay things came from nights where he had too many shots? Things which you don't grow up hoping for, but things which make you… sort of... content? Even though your life wasn't magazine perfect?

Todd clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. "Beers, then! Come on, first round's on me." He tugged Eames forward to meet with Dom, Nash, and Tadashi, all standing at the end of the row, waiting.

"Hey, guys," Eames said, having sat by all of them at one point. They grinned and nodded at him.

"Ready?" Dom asked.

"Ah, I just need to notify my, uh, carpool. One of you mind giving me a ride back?"

Todd elbowed him. "Only if you end up needing one, eh?" He guffawed and Eames chuckled.

"I'll meet you at the car check? On the 32nd floor?"

They nodded and Eames grabbed his phone. He wasn't sure why, but he waited until they were gone before he rang Arthur.

"Arthur speaking."

"Hello, Arthur speaking. This is Eames, also speaking."

"Is everything alright? You're not at the car check." Arthur's voice was even, but there was a thread of concern Eames wasn't sure he would have noticed a week ago.

"Right as rain, love. I've been invited for drinks with some of the blokes, so I'm dropping the car check credentials to you now. Just use the autopilot to get home, alright?"

There was a heavy pause on the other end. "Alright. Love."

Eames blinked, and then grinned at his shoes, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice so Arthur wouldn't think he was taking the piss. "I won't be too late. I told them I can't do shots; I need this job," he laughed. "Plus, I've got things to tell you."

"Alright," Arthur said again. "I will see you then."

"Ta," Eames said, disconnecting with a grin.

* * *

The bar was loud and crowded, and Nash grabbed them the corner booth by sliding in just as the previous group stumbled out. Eames perched on the end seat.

"Yes, boys, let's drink! To Eames," Todd said, hoisting his first beer of the evening, "Mr. Positive, Mr. Sales, Mr. Chairspin. Here's to you."

Eames lifted his glass, sure he was imagining the slight barb those words held and checked the faces of the other men at the table. They all appeared tired, but happy for him, and he nodded his thanks.

He tipped up his glass, then watched with amazement as all four of them chugged their drinks, draining them in one long gulp.

Todd was done first, thunking his glass on the table and belching loudly. "Oh, man, Eames! You are out of practice, my man! Drink up, drink up! We can't have you starting out behind!"

The mood lightened as they ordered another round, and Eames relaxed. They knew each other, so they traded off answering random questions Dom had downloaded on his phone.

"Eames, you get to go first, new guy," Dom announced. "Okay… ah. Here's one. What is the biggest lie you ever told your parents?"

Eames licked the foam from his lip. "Ah, that one's easy. I brought home a fake date for Christmas to get them off my back. But it was only a lie for a while. We ended up dating for real for six months after that."

They all laughed, then the others jumped in with their own lies, and it was pretty fun, actually. Nash was pretty hilarious, and Dom seemed a little uptight, but he was alright. He couldn't quite get a read on Tadashi, but the night was young.

Eames nursed his drinks, putting away two to their four and a half, and Todd was starting to laugh a little too loudly.

"So, okay, okay, okay," Todd said, "like, where did you get these questions?"

Dom grimaced. "From a speed dating site. But they work!" he hollered over their shared laughter. "They work, don't they?"

"They're great," Eames said, chuckling. "Come on, ask us the next one."

"Okay," Dom cleared his throat. "Tadashi, you get to answer this one first. What's the most expensive thing you've ever purchased?"

"Uh, my house," Tadashi said, a blush spreading over his collarbones. They gaped at him.

"You own a house?" Dom said. "In this economy? How!?"

"Well," he fidgeted, looking younger than ever, "my parents passed away and left me some money. So I figured… might as well do something useful with it."

They got quiet, even Todd, and Eames said, "I'm going to guess that's a more responsible answer any of us are going to give."

"Oh yeah?" Tadashi asked, looking relieved to change of subject. "What's yours, Eames?"

Fuck. "Uh… pass."

"Ooooohhhhh!" the table chorused, Todd slapping him on the shoulder. "Now you have to tell us!"

"Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!" Todd started chanting and banging on the table, and Eames held up a hand to shut him up.

"Alright! Alright. But this is… god, I wish it had been a house."

They all laughed again and waited.

"Alright. Fine. I got really drunk one night," Eames shook his head at himself, laughing, "and ordered a sex bot online."

The response was explosive as the four men howled with laughter.

"Oh my god, that's golden," Dom said, wiping his eyes. "Tell me you kept it."

"I, uh, didn't read the part about 'if you open it, they won't take it back.' So… yeah, I still have it. It's probably waiting up for me to ask me where I've been and why didn't I call if I was going to be late."

They all laughed again, Todd sinking onto Eames' shoulder, unable to hold himself up. "Oh Jesus, Eames, that's hilarious. Is it any good?"

Eames was still chuckling. "What?"

"The sex!" Todd asked, his eyes a little too bright, his breath smelling like beer. "Is she any good? What's the sex like?"

"Uh…" Eames shifted in his seat. "Pass."

They all laughed again and Dom said, "Okay next—"

"Does it have, like, some kind of bionic cunt?" Todd asked, still laughing too loud. "Does it _vibrate_? Oh my god," he said, slapping Eames' arm, "can it go down on you? I bet it can deep throat like nothing else."

Eames frowned. "That's not really—"

"Holy shit, what I wouldn't give to try that out," Todd interrupted, sitting back in the seat and downing the rest of his beer before signaling the harried waitress for another round. "Hey, ever think about loaning it out? I would pay money to slip her the old Todd Rod if you know what I mean." He laughed again, throwing his head back.

Eames, knowing he was overreacting, felt disgusted and wanted very badly to punch Todd in his stupid git face. He glanced at the others, who looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Dom, who was shooting Eames an apologetic smile.

Eames finished his beer. "Well, gentlemen, speaking of, I'd better get home. Otherwise, I'll have some explaining to do."

Todd, oblivious, grabbed for Eames' arm as he rose. "Hey, man, we gotta do this again sometime. And let me know what the going rate is for a battle with your bot if you know what I mean."

Eames felt a flare of possessiveness in his gut he didn't know he was capable of and knew that Arthur would never, ever, meet this man if he had anything to say about it.

"Good night, Todd," Eames clipped and left without another word.

The taxi home was a blur, and Eames wished he'd never brought Arthur up at all. Todd was never going to stop talking about it, never stop pushing. He was going to keep asking for a "turn" as if Arthur—.

Eames stopped himself. _As if Arthur was an object_ , had been where his thought was headed, but Arthur _was_ an object. Wasn't he? He'd been manufactured. He had programming. He had wires and circuits and didn't need to eat or sleep.

But he also liked to read the paper. And loved suits. And he blushed. And recognized Eames' smell. And gave Eames the money he made because he wanted to. And he had ears that stuck out just a little too far, and tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose, which you only noticed if you got close enough.

When he walked in the door of the flat, he smelled marinara.

"Eames," Arthur said, surprised. "You're here earlier than I thought. Sorry, the food isn't ready; I still have to…" he checked a recipe on the iSlide, "...'brown' the meat. I was going to have it done by the time you got here," he chuckled, "I thought I had—"

Eames took the few steps towards Arthur and stopped his flow of words by kissing him.


	6. Chapter 6

Eames cupped Arthur's face in his hands, cradling it carefully, protecting it from the world. His lips were warm beneath Eames'. He smelled intoxicating; a bit like new car mixed with a warm summer night and a dash of sandalwood from Eames' hair pomade, and Eames wanted to devour him.

With a jolt, Eames threw himself backward at that thought. "Jesus," he swore, panting. "I'm… I'm so sorry Arthur. I shouldn't have done that."

Arthur stood in the middle of the kitchen, wooden spoon dripping sauce onto the floor, _splat, splat, splat._ He stared at Eames, frozen, until Eames turned and fled from the room.

Eames clenched his eyes shut as his feet carried him to his bedroom, cursing his stupid, insane, greedy, selfish, idiotic— he was Todd with better access. How could he do that to Arthur? It didn't matter that Arthur's lips fit perfectly beneath his own, or that there was a tiny sound caught in Arthur's throat, or that Eames' tongue longed to delve between his lips and drag it out. It didn't matter that maybe, right before he pulled away, Arthur seemed to have relaxed a bit, leaned into him just a hair, and that if he'd kept going, Arthur might have responded, his programming kicking in and melting into Eames' embrace.

Eames groaned, sinking to the bed, head in his hands. "Ring Ariadne," he gritted out before he could back down

 ***Ringing! Ariadne!***

He almost disconnected before her voice rang out, "Hey! Did the sauce turn out okay? Do you need help with the, ugh, meat?" She was laughing and Eames felt like throwing up.

"It's Eames," he said miserably.

"Oh! You're back already! Did Arthur make the—"

"I kissed him."

The silence on the other end was deafening.

"Kissed… who?"

"Arthur, for Christ's sake," Eames snapped. "There was this bloke at the bar saying foul things about Arthur, and all I could think about was protecting him. And then I come back here and he's made me dinner, even though he doesn't eat, and he's wearing an apron over his suit even though he doesn't spill, and he's talking to me like it's normal, even though it isn't, and…" Eames' voice broke. "And all I could think about was kissing him."

"Eames," Ari said carefully, "where is Arthur now."

"Probably still in the bloody kitchen," Eames said, fists pulling at his hair.

"WHAT THE— get in there, you big oaf! He probably has no idea what's going on, and you probably just confused the living shit out of him about how he's supposed to be acting right now! You know he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing with his life? You could show a little sympathy, Eames, for someone who has never been in a relationship at _all_ , and then gets thrown in this one with _you._ "

"Oi!"

"Dah dah dah dah dah!" Ari yelled into the phone, stopping him. "I don't want to hear it! Get your ass in there and talk to him, and don't call me back until you're NORMAL! Gawd!"

The call disconnected with an angry beep, and Eames flinched. Then he took a steadying breath and opened the door.

The smell of something burning hit his nostrils. "Arthur?"

Arthur was standing in the middle of the kitchen, where the ground beef was burning to the bottom of the pan, and the sauce was boiling hard enough to spatter the walls and hood with scalding red droplets. But Eames couldn't see anything except Arthur.

He'd removed his apron to open his suit and shirt to the waist. His chest cavity hung open, revealing enough cables, fibers, and circuitry to light the East End. Arthur had the circuit tools in one shaking hand, and when he looked up at Eames, his face was terrified.

"Eames, there's something wrong."

Ice water dumped in Eames' veins. "Oh, Jesus," he said, rushing forward.

It happened too fast for him to react, but later Eames would swear it had happened in slow motion. He reached for Arthur, not sure what he intended to do, only wanting to stop the fear in Arthur's voice. But the sauce on the stovetop spat hot marinara in an arc, and Arthur, in a smooth spin, put himself between the burning liquid and Eames. It landed with a sizzle, inside his open chest cavity.

"Oh, _fuck_!" Eames shouted, watching as the mechanisms in Arthur's chest started to seize and melt, and Arthur sank jerkily to one knee. His face went blank, those chocolate brown irises spinning, re-calibrating, re-spinning.

"Eames?" he said, his voice a whisper, just as Eames gathered him up, dragging him away from the stove.

"Hang in there, Arthur. Shut down all non-essential systems, now." Eames wrenched his polo off, stuffing it in Arthur's chest, and trying to remember the robotics class he'd barely passed. "Power off stovetop!" he shouted. "Ring US Robotics! Jesus, Arthur don't you fucking break on me."

 ***Powering off stovetop!***

 ***US Robotics is currently closed for the day! Would you care to leave a message?***

"No, I fucking would not! Call an emergency robotics lab; somebody has to be available. Who fixes hospital gear when it breaks in the middle of the night?"

 ***Here's what I found on the web for, "Who fixes hospital gear—***

"Oh, piss OFF!" Eames said, swiping at the circuitry as gently and quickly as he could, while trying to hold Arthur up.

"Eames," Arthur said, his voice sounding metallic, his eyes still whirring and unfocused. "I have records for two android repair stations in London, do you want the number for Bot Bod Body Shop or Sangfroid Android Repair?"

Eames drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

"No, Arthur, I'll get it. You're supposed to be shutting down non-essentials, remember?"

"But Eames," Arthur said, the lights in his chest cavity dimming further. "Something is wrong."

Eames helped the heavy body sink to the floor, straining to keep him from dropping.

"Ring the number for the closest one which is 24-hours; tell them it's an emergency on a new model droid."

 ***Ringing!— ***

"Just _do it!_ " Eames called, too loud.

"Eames," Arthur repeated, his voice sounding off, "something is wrong?"

"I know, Arthur, I'm going to get someone to fix you. Shhhh, stop talking now. I've got you."

He didn't, though. The polo shirt was seared through in places where the heat from Arthur's electronics had singed it, and the marinara he'd soaked up was minimal and it was not good enough. Arthur's weighted body, far more dense than a human body, was not something Eames could support, and it stretched on his living room floor, Eames' hand uselessly cradling Arthur's neck.

"No, something was wrong before."

Eames wiped his nose with a snick. "You mean besides the fact that those bastards programmed you to feel fear? What, Arthur? What could possibly be more wrong?"

"My pain receptors," Arthur said, hand coming up to clutch at Eames' arm, and his head turning to find Eames' face. "They were malfunctioning. I op… op… opened my access pan… pan… pan…"

"Shh," Eames said, brushing back his hair even though he knew Arthur couldn't feel it. "I know. I saw."

"You kissed me."

Eames shut his eyes. "Yes. I did. I'm sorry, Arthur."

"You kissed me, and then you said you should… should… shouldn't have."

Eames shook his head, cursing himself. "I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"

"And then my pain receptors in my chest went off, and it ached. But I couldn't find anything wrong. And then my pain receptors in my chest went off, and it ached. But I couldn't find anything wrong. And then my pain receptors in my chest went off, and it ached. And it ached. And it ached. And it ached."

"Shhh," Eames said, his own chest aching, running his thumb over Arthur's lips. "No more talking, yeah? We'll talk about it when they get you patched up. I mean it now, all non-essentials."

Arthur's head jerked twice, then his neck clicked back to a neutral position and Eames had to remove his polo and check to see that there were still some systems running.

Eames sat back on his heels, sweating despite being down to his vest, and gritted his teeth against the lump in his throat. It was going to be fine.

 ***KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK***

"AuPair Tech Repair, We're-Not-Just-For-Nanny-Bots-Anymore. Mr. Eames? Anyone home?"

Eames leapt to his feet, disengaging the locks without asking them to swipe ident cards and threw open the door.

"He's in here."

The two techs wandered in looking bored and possibly high, but they carried cases with them which spelled Arthur's salvation, so Eames wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

One tech gave a low whistle at Arthur's still form. "Nice mech!" he said with a grin. "I've never seen anything like this before. That is top of the line silicone there, look at its seams."

"Yeah," the other one nodded, chewing gum. "Looks expensive."

"He was, yeah," Eames said, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep from physically hurrying them along. "Think you can fix him?"

"Nope," said Gum Chewer, popping a bubble.

"What?"

"Yeah, too rich for my salary," the first one laughed, and Eames wanted to murder someone. "We'll just send him back to the factory, they can clean him up. They can probably send out a replacement one in a day or two though. Shouldn't be a problem."

"No," Eames insisted, keeping his voice calm and his hands in his pockets. "No, it _is_ a problem. He's a prototype, so they can't send me a replacement. And I don't want a replacement, I want _this_ one."

The two techs exchanged a look and an eye roll and Eames counted to ten in his head.

"Well," Gum Chewer said, "in that case, I'll put in a special request that you get this specific one back. Kay? Good enough?"

Eames frowned. "I don't think you understand. He was protecting me, and—"

"Yea, they do that."

"— and his programming is unique. I can't just ship him off. What if he comes back different?"

"Look, man," the first guy said, edging his way to the door. "I'm sympathetic, really, I am, but if you knew how many housewives were attached to their dishwasher bots like they were their children, you'd understand where we're coming from."

"Yeah," Gum Chewer threw in with a laugh, "and those don't even have a face."

Eames planted himself in front of the exit and crossed his not-insubstantial arms. "Alright, listen. I'm going to level with you."

"Unnecessary, but okay."

"That," Eames said, pointing, "is an Arthur!Bot. It's not due out for two years. Its software isn't complete, I don't think, but the bloody cunts that programmed him to be 'a more lifelike companion' programmed him to feel fear. Do you understand me? I had to look at him while he shut down, and he was _scared._ "

The techs exchanged another look.

"He also exhibits signs of pride, material greed, charity, sarcasm, and condescension," Eames said, counting them off on his fingers. "He is _unique_. Do you understand?"

The first guy tucked his case under his arm and spoke calmly, like Eames was a spooked horse. "Mr Eames. I know it can seem like bots have feelings, and we can grow to care for them over time, but they don't _actually_ have feelings. They just run programs."

"Yeah?" Eames challenged. "And what if their programs tell them to simulate human emotion? At what point is that not real emotion?"

He cleared his throat. "Sir, I know it can seem like it, but he's not actually alive."

"I know that!" Eames snapped. The techs exchanged another look and Eames sighed. "Look. What if I give each of you 100 quid to just take a look with what you've got on hand and see what you can do."

"Sir…"

"Please."

The first guy finally shrugged. "Fine. Your money, your fancy mech. Don't blame me if we can't fix it."

"Or if we make it worse," Gum Chewer mumbled under his breath. But they set up a gurney table and lights and rolled Arthur onto it.

"Ugh, heavy bastard," one of them muttered, but then they raised the table and got to work.


	7. Chapter 7

It took four hours and another 200 quid, and Eames was going to make Arthur pay for ALL OF THIS BECAUSE HE WAS A GOD DAMNED GIT for deciding _now_ was the time to start listening to his programming.

Eames paced as the techs poked and prodded him, tweezers and things which looked like pipe cleaners and soldering irons, picking out pieces of tomato sauce and bits of charred orange fibers. Gum Chewer had a small plastic stick, which probably had a fancy name and was sold by only one company on earth, which he was using to poke things at random intervals. Eames tried to be patient.

When Arthur's eyes went back to their regular brown, Eames breathed a sigh of relief. It meant nothing, of course, but he somehow felt better being able to look into them as he paced.

"Mr Eames, you ain't making this any easier, no offense."

"Sorry," Eames mumbled, stepping back, "but why isn't he waking up?"

Gum Chewer sighed. "He's not asleep, sir. Because he doesn't sleep. Because he's a robot. He's powered down his systems to keep from electrocuting us, thank you much."

"Right, right," Eames said, "sorry."

Finally, the first guy leaned back with a satisfied nod and said, "Alright, Mr Eames, I think that's the best we can do. What do you call him?"

Eames stared at him, confused. "His name's Arthur."

He raised his eyebrows. "You named your Arthur!Bot 'Arthur'?" He mumbled, "Creative," under his breath and then said, "Arthur, program on."

Arthur blinked and Eames could see the lights in his chest flash in sequential order and then a tiny hum he didn't even notice until it was missing started up. It made Eames' chest loosen.

The first guy checked the screens he'd pulled up. "Arthur, run diagnostics on sectors 2-73 and report."

Eames shifted his weight, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Arthur was staring at the ceiling.

"Diagnostics complete," Arthur said, sounding knee-weakeningly normal. "There's an AI accelerator in sector 17 running a bit warm and an accumulator that appears to have been reinstalled backward and upside down in sector 3."

"Shit," muttered Gum Chewer, delving back in with his plastic poking stick.

Arthur tilted his head. "My cache line along the main processor appears to have been cleared. Why?"

"Um," the first guy shifted, "that's standard procedure during android repairs, sir."

"Hmm," Arthur hummed. "That seems like a pretty shady business practice, but I suppose you can't undo it now."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, packing up his tools, "wasn't my idea anyway. You get that accelerator?" he asked Gum Chewer, who nodded. "Good. Let's get out of here before something fries and we get blamed."

Gum Chewer started stowing his gear like it was on fire.

"Arthur," the first guy said, too casual, "you know your Mask ROM looks a little… odd, right?"

Arthur appeared to process that, blinking. "If you say so. I wouldn't know any different." He sounded, to Eames, a trifle defensive.

"What does that mean?" Eames asked, his voice rising. "Is he going to be okay?"

The first guy looked up from his case, meticulously repacked and ready to go. "Of course. Nothing to worry about." He snapped it shut. "Tell him, Arthur."

Arthur turned his head to look at Eames for the first time and Eames licked his lips.

"Diagnostics check says systems running at 75% capacity are okay to resume full power," Arthur said, his voice softer, almost an apology. Eames wanted to hit him and kiss him again.

Gum Chewer looked back and forth between them. "Well, it looks like our work here is done… so…" He sidled his way toward the door.

"Uh, we'll send you the invoice, if you could just… add the extra on there?" the first guy said awkwardly as Arthur stood and he retrieved his worktable from beneath him.

"Yeah, yep, mm hmm," Eames said, ushering them out the door, eyes only on Arthur.

"What extra?" Arthur asked, frowning over the state of his unbuttoned shirt.

"Thanks for your help, gentlemen," Eames said loudly and closed it behind them.

"What extra?" Arthur repeated, eyes narrowing at Eames, fingers stilling on his buttons.

"Arthur," Eames said, turning to him, "can I just…?"

He put his hand over Arthur's stopping him from fastening any more. He ignored the slight tremble in his fingers and pressed his palm to the smooth skin over Arthur's breastbone. The techs had said he had seams in his silicone, but all Eames could feel was warmth and a synthetic heartbeat under his hand. He even _knew_ it was synthetic, had read it on the back of the pamphlet as one of the features, and yet feeling it thump beneath his fingertips was calming the caveman part of his brain that wanted to thrash everyone within ten feet of Arthur and wrap himself around the android to keep him safe.

Arthur stayed still, watching him, his dark eyes calm and understanding.

"Arthur, did they really fix you? Are you…back?"

"Back? What the fuck does that mean? I didn't see a bright light, Eames. I didn't see my life flash before my eyes." Arthur frowned. "Are _you_ okay? You look like shit."

Eames made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and pulled Arthur into an embrace. He could feel Arthur's tentative hands land softly on his waist and Eames forced himself to back off.

As Eames pulled away, Arthur's dimples flashed. "You must really want me to finish that pasta."

Eames' laugh burst out of him, a little too loud and yet Arthur only raised an amused eyebrow. "I think the meat might be overcooked. Do you think it will work without it?"

Eames dropped his hands and took a step back and a deep breath. "I'm sure it will be fine. Ariadne would be proud."

Arthur grinned and synced with the stovetop, rewarming the sauce as he continued righting his clothing. Eames got the meager place settings for one and they just existed side-by-side in the kitchen as they finished preparing Eames' dinner. It was late and Eames wasn't actually hungry, but he wasn't about to point that out.

Eames sat on the couch and settled his plate on his knees, a nervous looking Arthur sinking into his chair across from him.

"Is it alright?" he asked. "It didn't say to put garlic in the sauce, but I noticed you used it sometimes so I—"

"Arthur," Eames interrupted, putting on a mock annoyed tone, "you're missing my facial expressions."

Arthur startled. "Oh," he mumbled and blushed, looking at Eames gravely. Eames made a big show of taking a bite and rolling his eyes in ecstasy, an exaggerated moan breaking the stillness.

Arthur frowned, looking suspicious.

"Ohmygod, _so good_ , Arthur," Eames said, his lips twitching despite his best effort.

Arthur's eyebrows drew together. "Okay, but is it actually?"

Eames grinned at him. "Yes. It really is."

Arthur settled back, a small smile on his face, and Eames tucked in.

When he finished, Eames placed the plate in the dishwasher bot. "Are you really alright?"

He sounded tense, even to himself, as he pushed the words out of his mouth, but he had to let himself ask, just once more, even though it had been screaming in his head on a constant loop.

"Eames," Arthur said from behind him. "You're missing my facial expressions."

Eames knew it was supposed to be funny, a needed stress reliever, despite their easy conversation as he ate, laughing about the edited story of Todd the Rod. But right now he couldn't picture any of Arthur's facial expressions except the blank one as he lay on the gurney, unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling. Eames hadn't anticipated the mental exhaustion one would feel watching someone you knew be operated on in front of you.

So when he finally turned to look at Arthur, Eames knew he was trying to make a joke, but he also knew his own face was drawn and tired and probably still just a little worried. He regretted it instantly as Arthur went from dimples, _full-blown dimples_ , just for him, to a soft, fond smile instead. Arthur took a step closer to Eames and held out his hands, perfect suit intact, not a hair out of place.

"I really am. But..."

"But?" Eames said, too fast.

Arthur sighed. "But your work shirt… I'm sorry Eames, but it didn't make it. It's gone."

* * *

Eames slept in the next morning. Carb load, plus late night, plus unaddressed emotional stress was enough to make anyone sleep late.

He finally woke up to his bedroom door creaking open and closing again. The second time it happened, he pushed his face out of the pillow and glared through the light. "What?"

"Sorry," came Arthur's voice. "I just… needed to check on you. Go back to sleep."

Eames grunted and fell back into his pillow.

Except he didn't fall right back to sleep.

"Internet search."

 ***Bing!***

Eames looked at the door. "Uh, private internet search."

 ***Did you mean Pornhub?***

"NO! Jesus bloody fuck, do you have to shout it all over the damn house?"

 ***Did you mean non-public search results?***

"Yes, you arsehole."

 _ ***bing***_

Eames sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. "Definition of Mask ROM."

 ***Mask ROM, or** **MROM, is a type of read-only memory, or ROM, whose contents are programmed by the integrated circuit manufacturer (rather than by the user). The terminology "mask" comes from integrated circuit fabrication— ***

"Right, that's good enough, ta."

Eames thought about that as he pulled on a pair of trackies and headed for the kitchen.

As he opened the door, Arthur jerked his eyes back to the paper he was pretending to read and ignored him.

"Good morning, darling!" Eames chirped just to watch him raise the paper and grunt from behind it. Eames grinned. Then, as he walked to the toaster, he noticed the seldom-used breakfast nook. Arthur had laid out a plate of more toast than any one person could eat, a jar of Marmite, and a vase of fresh flowers on top of a tablecloth he wasn't sure was his.

"Well! What's all this?" he asked cheerily.

"I don't know what you mean," Arthur said, still behind the paper.

"Darling," he said fondly, teasing as he slid onto the seat, "is this for me?"

Arthur snorted and put down his paper. "Well, I'm certainly not going to eat it."

Eames grinned and slathered Marmite on his toast, taking a bite and inclining his head to the other chair. Arthur rolled his eyes and stood to join him, folding his paper precisely.

"So," Arthur said, "I've been thinking."

"Oh?" Eames said, focusing on his food. "Not processing?"

He looked up when Arthur didn't reply to see Arthur staring at the table top, a sad look on his face. "No," Arthur murmured. "Not processing."

Eames put his food on his plate and said, "Okay. You have my attention."

"I was thinking," Arthur said, finally raising his eyes to look Eames in the face, "that if you wanted to try the sex thing, I would do it."

Eames froze, then wiped his lips with the cloth napkin he'd draped on his lap. "God damn it," he whispered. "This is because I kissed you, isn't it. Christ, I am such an idiot. Arthur," he said, "we don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I'm really sorry I put you in that position."

"We don't have to do anything I don't want to do," Arthur parroted back. His face looked numb and then irritated. "I don't understand what you want from me, Eames. Do you not want to have sex with me now? Is this because I'm broken?"

Eames sat up with a start. "Broken? I thought you said they fixed you, I thought you said—"

"I'm sending myself back to US Robotics tomorrow."

Eames' stomach lurched. "What?" He couldn't breathe.

"I have not been a reliable product."

"Not a reliable... last night was an accident! You were just trying to uphold the Laws, and they—"

"This is not about last night," Arthur snapped. "There is something wrong with my programming, there always has been, and you know it." He straightened his already straight tie and breathed in through his nose. "I am still running diagnostic checks to map all of my flaws, but the problem is that I am only one android. I don't know how a 'normal' droid is supposed to function, and the software plans are surprisingly hard to obtain, even in this day and age. I'm still looking, but—"

"Arthur," Eames said, reaching a hand across the table and grasping Arthur's warm, dry palm in his. "Darling, there is nothing wrong with your programming."

"There _is_ ," he insisted, frowning at Eames. "I know what I am. I should be prancing around in that cheap leopard thong right now, but instead, I'm sitting here trying not to wonder if I made toast correctly, which is _not_ in my programming, by the way, and being told you don't want to have sex with me. So something is obviously fundamentally broken."

Eames studied their hands, Arthur's still locked in his, and ran his thumb over the knuckles, knowing he was completely bent. "Arthur, I meant that I like your programming." He may as well be confessing his undying love to his Roomba or his television. God, he was a git. He bent forward, slow and steady, and kissed the back of Arthur's hand.

Arthur blinked. "So you… do want to have sex with me."

Eames chuckled. "I mean, I do, of course I do, but that's not what I want from you."

Arthur's face cleared and he looked calmer. "Yes, please, good. Finally, some specificity. What _is_ it that you want from me?"

Eames' smile dimmed. "Well, I guess," he hesitated, amazed he was saying this out loud, "Blimey, this is daft, but I guess I would like to, you know, go… with you. I mean, take you somewhere. Maybe to dinner, no, sorry, not dinner. Um," he squeezed Arthur's hand, "to the cinema?"

Arthur frowned. "You want me to go with you to the cinema. Why?"

"To spend time together?" At Arthur's blank stare, Eames added, "The old-timey cinema. As in a, a date kind of thing. Where we talk, and snog in the back row, and," he shrugged, warming to the idea, "I don't know. It's a bit of fun."

Arthur didn't appear impressed. "You want to go to a movie, but instead of watching it, you want to talk while it's playing and sit furthest away from the screen."

Eames dropped his hand. "Just forget it, it was a just a suggestion."

Arthur's eyebrows were constantly drawn together, and Eames couldn't help but like the way it looked on him. He rose to put his plate in the dishwasher bot because he couldn't stand the way Arthur was looking at him now, thwarted and baffled and unsure.

"Eames," Arthur said, standing also. "I don't know what you want from me."

He sounded as frustrated as Eames felt, but Eames still couldn't help slamming the jar of Marmite back on the shelf. "I don't know either, alright? I don't really do this," he said, gesturing between them. "And even if I did, _this_ isn't what normal people do."

Arthur tilted his head. "What do normal people do?"

"Well, how the hell would I bloody know?" Eames yelled.

"Because you've had more experience!" Arthur yelled back. "I don't know how to be what you want!"

Eames stopped, taking a deep breath and trying to remember what Ariadne had said before she'd reminded him he wasn't normal. She'd told him Arthur didn't know how he was supposed to be acting. Eames looked at the Arthur in front of him, color high in his cheeks, upset and beautiful. He wanted Arthur to act… like Arthur.

He took a step closer. "I don't want you to be anything other than what you are," he said, his voice softer, calming.

Arthur's eyes flashed. "I'm a sex bot," he spit out. "I don't… I can't…" His hands jerked impatiently and he made a disgruntled noise.

"Okay, okay, alright," he said, catching one of Arthur's hands. "I'm sorry, yeah?" He squeezed it, then smoothed his palms over the shoulders of Arthur's pristine suit. "Look, I'm not so good at this myself, truth be told. I don't really have long-term relationships. We can learn together. Alright?"

Arthur grunted.

Eames' lips twitched and he moved closer, touching his thumb to the tip of Arthur's chin. "May I kiss you?" he said, eyes already on that enticing mouth.

Arthur's lips turned down. "Why?"

Eames paused because he didn't get that reaction often, and reminded himself who he was kissing. Arthur was looking at him, calculating, genuinely wanting to know why a person wants to kiss another, what drives that act, and how to recognize it in himself. It was a good question and not, he reminded himself, an insult.

Eames looked at Arthur, brown eyes and soft lips, dark lashes and elegant nose. "Because I feel affection for you. Because I want to show you that I'm sorry and have you hear me. Because I need to reassure myself that you're really here with me and that you forgive me, and that I didn't lose you last night, but mostly," he said, eyes on Arthur's mouth, "because you look so damn kissable right now."

He brushed his lips to Arthur's, just a ghost of a touch, and smiled when Arthur turned into him.

"Alright," Arthur said.

Eames' smile widened and he leaned into Arthur, the press of his mouth warm and confident, and Arthur melted into him. Eames raised his hands to cup Arthur's jaw, tilting his head and kissing him again, not pushing, not going faster, just letting Arthur process and letting himself enjoy it this time. Arthur smelled amazing, the whiff of bottled pheromones only an underlying tone beneath the smell of toast and sandalwood, and the suit he'd re-pressed before Eames woke. Arthur leaned against him, his lips soft as he started to respond, his hands light on Eames' hips.

"Do you want to kiss me?" Eames asked between sips of Arthur's lips, teaching him, leading him, wanting Arthur to want this but desperately needing it to be for a reason other than because he was supposed to.

Arthur was kissing him back, tiny pecks to Eames' longer ones. "My programming is telling me to widen my eyes a little bit... and quicken my breathing a little... and warm my skin... and touch your shoulder…"

"But what do you want to do?" Eames growled.

"This," Arthur said, and crushed his mouth to Eames', grasping Eames' waist and sweeping his tongue into Eames' mouth as he hauled their hips together. Eames moaned, deepening the kiss and tightening his fingers into the hair at the base of Arthur's neck.

Arthur kissed him breathless, sucking Eames' bottom lip into his mouth and making him pant. He had never been this turned on before by a simple kiss, never, not once, and Jesus fuck if Arthur didn't know exactly what he was doing.


	8. Chapter 8

When the morning sun hit Arthur's hair just right, it lit up with different shades of brown, gold, and black.

"Oh thank God, you're finally awake," Arthur said, immediately rolling out from under him.

Eames groaned and buried himself back into the blankets. "I didn't say you had to stay. You did that on your own."

Arthur paused as he pulled the oxford around his shoulders. "Yeah, Eames, about that—"

"I'm glad you stayed," Eames interrupted, lifting his head and blinking a bleary eye. "I like your programming, okay?"

Arthur blushed and looked away as he buttoned his shirt, but Eames could see the play of a smile on his lips.

Eames stretched and scooted back against the headboard. "So. What's the plan for today, darling?"

Arthur tsked over the state of his trousers, then laid them neatly on the bed, hunting down the rest of his clothing. Eames watched his bum peeking out under the hem of his shirt, the light hairs on his thighs catching the first rays of the daylight, thinking deliciously filthy thoughts. He grinned.

"Well, I need to clean this suit," Arthur said, fastening his cuffs with the cufflinks Eames had ordered on a whim. "No telling where those techs' hands had been. And I _know_ where your hands have been." He fixed Eames with a reproachful glare.

Eames beamed at him and laced his fingers behind his head.

"And then I have some work to do for tomorrow's board meeting," Arthur continued, the dice on his cufflinks flashing as he fastened his tie. Eames wanted to ruck that oxford up and chase it with his mouth.

"What about you?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, yes, tomorrow's board meeting has been weighing heavily on my mind. I also have some things to prepare."

"Mm hmm," Arthur hummed. "Sure you do." He straightened his hair in the mirror.

"Arthur," Eames said, pushing the blankets aside and rising to join him. Arthur stilled, turning to face him. "How would you feel about going out tonight?"

Arthur's eyebrows drew together. "Where? When? What would we be doing? What do _I_ need to be doing? Is this like a date?"

Eames chuckled and brushed a stray hair off Arthur's forehead. Arthur immediately turned to the mirror to check for others, and Eames stood behind him, settling his hands on Arthur's shoulders. "Yes, like a date," he said, watching him in the mirror. "And since I don't know how either of us should act, I thought we could get some expert assistance. What do you say?"

Arthur met his eyes and his shoulders relaxed under Eames' hands. "Yes, alright," he nodded, his face serious and his mouth in a slight frown.

Eames pressed his nose and lips to the warm space behind Arthur's ear. "Good," he rumbled. "Now, about that board meeting…" He pressed himself up against Arthur. "I'm really appreciating your professional attire, darling. Come see what I've prepared for you."

* * *

"Hey, Yusuf, mate. How are you? No, you're spot on, I'm not calling about returning your crowbar, it's something else. Are you seeing anyone right now?"

Eames frowned. "No, I'm not trying to set you up with Ariadne; I told you a thousand times. She doesn't eat meat. Yeah, yeah. Save it. Listen, I need some advice. On where to take a date."

Eames listened, tension settling in his gut. "No, you don't know him. No, it's not important. Uh huh. Yeah, I need someplace that doesn't involve food. Alright, thanks anyway, mate, I appreciate it. No. Because you don't need to meet him, that's why. Alright, fine, maybe we'll stop by sometime. Yeah, when I drop off your crowbar. Sounds perfect. Ta."

Eames hung up, worrying his lip. Arthur's eyes on him were all-seeing.

"Are you ashamed to be dating an android?" he asked.

"Jesus, you don't mince words, do you?" Eames asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. He took a breath and faced Arthur. "I'm not ashamed to be dating _you_. But, in general, dating your android has a certain… stigma."

Arthur cocked his head. "Ariadne didn't know I was an android."

Eames was thinking so hard he almost missed what Arthur was saying. "That's true…" he trailed off.

"You know, we don't have to do this, Eames. We seem to be getting along okay."

Arthur looked calm compared to the storm going on in Eames' head. "I want to, Arthur. This is the part I want to make sure I don't fuck up. Okay? Just because you never fuck up doesn't mean I'm not spectacular at it."

Arthur sniffed. "While that sounds accurate, I wanted you to know that I've been scanning dating sites all morning to build a referenceable database for us."

Eames cringed and laughed at the same time. "Oh, God, dating sites?"

"Yes," Arthur confirmed with a nod. "It appears that 'hooking up' is the ultimate goal, which we seem to have down, if this morning's activities are any indication. But I figure we can add 'grabbing a beer and just hanging out', along with sending each other pictures of our penises, and occasionally walking on beaches. But only if we do it," he cocked his head, processing, "'unironically'."

Eames laughed and kissed Arthur on the cheek. "You are delightful. While I wouldn't say no to a picture of your penis, darling, I don't think those are quite what we're looking for. Besides, I have an idea."

Arthur frowned. "Fine, but if your way fails, I think we should try my way."

He laughed again. "Fair enough, love."

* * *

Dom looked surprised when Eames stopped him after work.

"Hey, Dom, quick question for you."

"Oh, hey, Eames. Uh… look, if this is about Todd, I don't really hang out with him, I just didn't want to be rude, and…"

"No, no," Eames waved his hand, "it's not that. I actually have a favor to ask."

"Oh. Okay, shoot." Dom adjusted his bag, shifting his weight nervously.

"Well, the thing is," Eames leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice, "I'm seeing someone. Someone from work. And it's rather new, this relationship, and we were wondering… well, we were hoping, that you and your partner, might—"

Dom's face looked tight and uncomfortable, and he took a step back. "Oh, no, my wife and I are perfectly happy just the two of us, but thank you, that's very flattering."

"No! No, no," Eames held up his hands as a white flag. "Bloody hell, this should be easier to propose than _that_. I just meant, Arthur and I were hoping for some ideas for places to go, and possibly a double-date kind of thing, if you wanted to."

"Arthur?" Dom looked perplexed. "I don't know any Arthurs. Is he doing inbound?"

"No..." It was Eames' turn to shift stiffly. "He's not… in this department."

"Oh." Dom seemed to think about it. "Well, I'll ask Mal, but we could probably meet up for drinks sometime."

"Right, cheers, except, um, Arthur doesn't drink?"

"Oh." Dom made an unsure face. "Uh, dinner? I guess?"

Eames sighed and closed his eyes. "Could we… do something without food? Sorry to be such a bastard, but it's… new for us."

Dom looked at him like he was crazy, but frowned and looked at his watch. "Well then, uh, Mal and I sometimes do this wine and painting thing? Not sure when we'll have a sitter, but I've got to get going, so…"

"Sure, sure," Eames said, stepping back, a sense of relief flooding his limbs. "We'll work out the details later."

Dom nodded and headed for the elevators at twice his usual clip, not looking back. Eames sank into a nearby chair. "Bloody hell, I've had one-night-stands that were less awkward to set up than that."

He expected to never hear from Dom again, and was hesitant to bring it up to Arthur lest he be subjected to walks on the beach, but Dom surprised him.

"Eames," he said, two days later. They'd been sat next to each other, and Dom rolled over between calls. "Will you guys be available on Saturday?"

"Us guys?" Eames said, covering his mouthpiece and half listening to the sob-story on the other end.

"Yeah, you and Arthur."

Eames blinked, surprised at the warm surge that went through him, just hearing Arthur's name. "Uh, Saturday. Yes. Yeah, that should be fine for us."

Dom nodded, his intense face as serious as if they were planning an interstellar mission. "Great. Mal said there's an opening for the 7pm session, and she recommends eating before you go if you're going to drink wine."

"Perfect, ta."

Arthur, however, did not think it was perfect.

"Painting?!" he squawked when Eames explained it. "Can't I just drink instead?"

"I told them you don't drink, Arthur. They think you're some kind of teetotaler now. Besides, you can't just go there to drink, it's not a pub."

"I can't go there to _paint_ , Eames. I can't paint! It's not in my programming!"

"Well neither is being an annoying prat, but you pull that off just fine!" Eames yelled back, and then immediately wished he hadn't said anything.

Arthur didn't seem to hear him though. He paced their living room, talking mainly to himself. "I could practice. I could just copy someone's work and pretend I thought of it myself. What are the chances Dom and Mal have seen every work of art available online?"

"Slim," Eames said flatly, and watched Arthur pull up online tutorials and painting supplies without listening to a word Eames said. Eames rolled his eyes and went to make himself supper.

Saturday was almost comically stressful. Arthur kept trying on outfits during drying sessions of his multiple canvases, and Eames wouldn't say no to a reproduction or two on his walls, but ten was a few too many. Besides, reproductions of amateur artists weren't exactly his passion.

"Arthur, for the last time, no one is going to care about your painting."

Arthur turned, his brown eyes flashing a warning. "You'd better care, Mr. Eames, if you want to pull off this little charade."

" _What_ little charade?!" Eames exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "We aren't faking anything here, darling." He reached out, stilling Arthur's hands on his tie. "No one there is a professional painter. It might be fun. You're programmed for fun, right darling?"

Arthur leveled a look at him and finished straightening his tie. "Don't push me. I could turn that off with a flick of a switch."

"Ah, now," Eames said, pressing a smile into the side of Arthur's neck. "Don't do that, darling. I like it when we have a bit of fun." He nibbled his way up to Arthur's ear, loving the sigh that Arthur breathed out and the way he elongated his neck. Then Arthur froze, tilting his head to listen to something only he could hear.

"It's time to leave, Eames."

"Shhh," Eames said, kissing along his jawline. "I'm busy."

"Eames…"

"Don't make me snooze you."

Arthur snorted a laugh and turned to kiss him quickly on the mouth. "We'll be late. Come on."

Eames groaned but followed him out the door.

The studio was set up in an old warehouse, a large space with lots of windows, and about ten easels set up and five people there, and Eames picked out Dom. Dom spotted them at the same time and waved them over. There was a stunning woman with collarbones that could kill a man picking out her paint palette already and she gave Eames a warm smile.

"Hello, you must be Mrs. Dom," he said with a cheeky grin, and when she reached out a hand, he kissed the back of it.

"Mal, please," she said in a lilting French accent, "and you must be the Eames I heard so much about. Congratulations on your sales."

Eames laughed. "Thank you, thank you. And this," he turned, "is Arthur."

Except Arthur wasn't smiling. Dom was staring at him, a look of mild horror on his face, and they were squaring off.

"This Arthur?" Dom said in a strangled voice. "You're dating _this_ Arthur?" His eyes were wild when he met Eames' and Eames held his hands up at the way his voice rose. "How can you be dating _this_ _Arthur_!?"

"Alright, easy, mate," Eames said, his voice low and calm. He took an instinctive step closer to Arthur. "I know he's technically my superior, but it's not like he's my direct supervisor or anything."

Dom let out a laugh that sounded a little hysterical and Eames had no idea what was going on. He glanced at Arthur.

Arthur's face had gone flat and… robotic. He was staring blankly into middle space, and Eames felt a surge of panic.

"Arthur?"

"Christ," Dom breathed, turning away and shoving a hand through his hair as he paced. "This is a nightmare. I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming."

"Arthur?" Eames said again when Arthur didn't respond. "What's going on?"

Dom stalked back, angry now instead of demented, and waved a hand. "It's fine, it's fine," he said, and Arthur seemed to click back over to normal. His shoulders relaxed a bit and his eyes sought Eames', the crease between his eyebrows familiar and comforting.

"Alright, what the bloody hell?" Eames demanded, glancing at Mal for confirmation. "What is going on here?"

Dom sighed with his hands on his hips. "Maybe we should get out of here. Find a place to talk."

Both Arthur and Mal made a sound of protest. "But the painting!" Mal said. "Please, darling."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, "please." Except he wasn't looking at Eames. He was looking at Dom.

Eames frowned, a surge of jealousy he didn't know he possessed rolling through him, and Dom sighed again. "Fine. We'll talk afterward." But his face didn't lose that pinched look.

Arthur nodded his satisfaction and chose the canvas closest to Mal. "Enchanté, Madame," he greeted her in French, and she looked pleased. She responded in French, and they were off, prattling away in a language Eames had taken in school but could only remember how to ask where the restrooms were. He frowned at himself, even more jealous and unable to stop himself. He looked at Dom.

Dom was squinting at his canvas, clearly somewhere else, and Eames leaned over. "Clearly you know something I don't. Care to give me a heads up?"

Dom looked at him, his mouth a hard slash in his tanned face, and then at his wife. "Not here," was all he grunted before choosing paints, seemingly at random.

"Welcome class!" came the voice of a bubbly 20-something from the front of the room. "We're so glad you joined us! Who is ready for some FUN?"

Eames took a quick look at the smiling faces, Arthur's among them, and picked up his own palette.

It turned out to be a follow-along class, which Mal and Arthur studied the instructor's directions intently, and Dom indifferently. There was also alcohol for purchase, and Dom downed pint after pint as he threw half-hearted paint at his canvas. Eames, on the other hand, picked up a brush and followed a step behind the instructor, watching, listening, and then, after the first few brush-strokes, ignoring completely. He had intended to keep an eye on Dom and Mal, and Arthur too, since he seemed a bit off, but the drag of brush against canvas was like a safety valve for his soul. He could feel the stress he hadn't realized he'd been holding in his shoulders roll off. Eames dug through the provided paints and brushes, biting his lip, finding the perfect one, and letting out a small, satisfied hum as the lines came out the way he wanted, and not being fussed when they didn't.

"Eames?" Arthur asked from behind him. "The class is… woah."

Eames looked up, lost in his painting, to see Arthur looking at his work. The rest of the class had been painting a beach sunset, but Eames' was… not that.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"Not sure," he said honestly. "Maybe a field of flowers? And this bloke here with the ears… not sure who that could be." He grinned, but Arthur had a little frown, just staring at it.

He cocked his head. "I like it."

Eames was more pleased than he thought he'd be. "Yeah? Bit rough round the edges, but it'll do. I had to keep up with you anyhow."

Arthur shrugged but he was suppressing a smile, and Eames nudged him with his elbow. "Let's see yours then," Eames announced. Out of the corner of his eye, Dom watched them, staring hard.

Arthur's and Mal's looked identical, a carbon copy of the instructor's down to the spot where her brush had dragged accidentally against the canvas when she turned to talk to the class. Eames grinned and whispered in his ear, "Looks bloody perfect— but not too perfect. Nice job."

"Well," Mal said, untying her apron and removing it, "where shall we go, gentlemen?"

Dom, serious and intent, said, "This way," and lead them outside. Eames and Arthur followed behind the couple, exchanging looks until Eames reached down and wound his fingers through Arthur's. Arthur blinked in surprise but didn't pull away. Eames tried to tamp down his feeling of unease as he watched Dom cup Mal's elbow and lead the way through the door of the nearby pub.

Dom pointed to a dark booth and headed to the bar. When he came back with four beers, Eames said, "Oh, sorry mate, I thought I mentioned. Arthur doesn't—"

"I know," Dom snapped and set the beer in front of him anyway. "He doesn't have to drink it. Just…" He sighed and settled next to Mal. "Just let it sit there. It keeps the waitstaff from coming to ask if we need anything. Now, I have a few questions for you, Eames." He leaned across the table, a very different person from the relaxed man Eames sat next to in cubicles. He seemed intent, focused, and possibly insane. Eames checked the exits.

"When did you order Arthur? Was there anything specific you put in the instructions?"

Eames and Arthur exchanged a look. "Um," Eames tried, "order? I don't know what—"

"Damn it, Eames!" Dom said, loud enough that the wait staff wouldn't give two shits about their full beers if he kept it up. "I know, okay? I know he's a synthetic human, I just need to know how you got _this_ model."

"Alright, alright," Eames said, hands up. "Just calm down, mate." Dom sat back and Eames looked at Arthur. Arthur only raised an eyebrow. "I told you already, actually. I ordered him when I was drunk. I thought I was getting a cleaning droid and I got him instead."

"Did you keep the crate?" Dom said, a light sheen on his forehead.

Eames regarded him carefully. "No, I didn't. So how about you tell me what's going on here? How did you know about Arthur? And what the hell is a 'synthetic human?'"

Dom sat back against the booth and pulled in a long breath through his nose. Mal had been silent the whole time, but looked at Dom with sympathy. He looked at her, twisting a napkin in her delicate hands, and moved a chestnut curl away from her face. Then he smiled, almost an apology and cupped her cheek. "Show them, Mal."

She pulled away a little bit, disbelief in her eyes and gave the slightest shake of her head.

"Go on," he said. "We know their secret. They can know ours. Recalibrate."

And just like that, Eames understood. Even before the irises of her eyes started to spin and she jerked back to a neutral position, Eames knew why they'd come to this dingy, dark pub, ordered beers like regular patrons, and why Dom looked like he was being hunted.

"My god," Eames breathed. "You programmed him."

Dom looked up at Eames, guilt in every line of his ill-fitting suit. "I tried. Arthur was supposed to be a prototype, a better, cleaner version of my original attempt. He was nearly done, almost perfected, when I was fired."

Mal, irises back to their normal color, covered his hand with hers. "It was for the better, my love," she said.

"Yeah, well, tell that to Arthur here," Dom said.

"I told myself if I ever met Arthur's programmers they'd get my complaints in the form of a fist in their teeth. Just what the hell were you thinking?" Eames demanded. "You programmed him to feel fear? And pain?"

"I programmed him to feel everything," Dom said to the table top. He sighed again and raised his head, addressing both of them. "Arthur was stage 2. Mal here is stage 3. Or possibly 4, I lost count how many times I've adjusted things at this point. But I got fired for my attempt at stage 1, and I didn't get to finish my tests for Arthur before they escorted me from the building. I'd been hiding him in the warehouse in a random shipping crate for months, working on him when I had a chance, and— "

"Why!" Eames practically exploded. He clenched his fist, fighting to keep his anger under control. "For fuck's sake, why would you subject him to all of that?"

Dom's lips pinched together. "I'd lost the Mal prototype during the inquiry and I thought, well, maybe I was too close to that project to see things clearly about what was necessary. So I started Arthur." He turned and smiled at Arthur, small and sad. "You're modeled off my best friend from high school, you know."

"Great," Arthur said drily, "I don't care." Eames took his hand under the table and they both held on.

Dom frowned and Mal rested her hand on his arm. "It was because of me," she said quietly. "Because I died."

Eames sat back, still angry and annoyed, but suddenly calm. "So that's it. I feel feelings I don't want to feel, so I'm going to project them onto something else. Hmm? Make someone else feel bad."

Dom shook his head. "I was just trying to make it as real as possible. I was just trying to make _her_ as real as possible." He looked at his wife with a fondness bordering on obsessiveness. "I still couldn't capture all of you, Mal, all your perfections and imperfections. You're still just a shade of your former self."

She cupped his cheek until he pulled her hand away and faced them again. "I was experimenting with Arthur on free will, and that's what got me canned. They saw in my notes I was planning it, even if they didn't know how close I was to actually doing it. They went through my home too, they took everything. My specs on Arthur, my blueprints… everything. But they didn't take him. I've been planning a heist for months, trying to get back in there to retrieve him."

Eames licked his lips and looked at the ceiling, counting to ten in his head. He got to five before he said, "Mate. I don't care. You are making this about you when it should be about Arthur. What I want to know is, what are you going to do about it?"

Arthur beside him leaned forward, elbows of his suit on the grimy table, and Eames blinked. "Yes. I'm interested in what you can do for me."

"Right," Eames said, snapping his eyes back to Dom. "You need to finish the job."

"I'd like the free will upgrade that you included for Mal," Arthur said.

"Yes, we'd… wait, what?" Eames said, turning to Arthur. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant that he shouldn't have programmed you with the fear and the pain, and all. What do you mean?"

Arthur peered at him. "What do _you_ mean?"

"I mean," he said, taking Arthur's elbow and pulling him away from the table in some semblance of privacy, "you got stuck with something you shouldn't have. You can ask him to get rid of it! Think of it! Never experiencing pain or fear… you shouldn't have to go through that. And now you don't have to. Besides," he lowered his voice, "I like your programming."

Hurt flashed in Arthur's eyes and he removed his elbow from Eames' hand. "Excuse me, please," Arthur said flatly.

"What? No, Arthur," Eames said, backing away as Arthur tried to slide out of the booth. "Where are you going? Don't you want him to take that stuff away?"

"Take away my feelings, you mean." Arthur scowled and pushed at him until Eames rose. "Don't _you_ want him to take that stuff away; that's the question you should be asking. Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Cobb, it was lovely to meet you."

And then he left. Eames watched, his mouth hanging open, as the heavy door swung closed behind him and the shuttering evening darkness swallowed him. Eames sank back to the bench and closed his eyes. "I have no idea what just happened."

"What are you doing?" a French accent barked at him. "Get up, Mr. Eames. You must go after him!"

"What?"

Mal rose and pulled him to his feet. "You tell your Arthur why you said those horrible things—"

"What!?"

"— and you _listen_ when he tells you why they were horrible. Go. Now. Fall upon your sword or I shall shove you on it." Her angry eyes flashed as she pushed him toward the door.

He looked back at Cobb, who raised his hands helplessly, a look somewhere between amused and apologetic on his face. Eames frowned and followed the path Arthur had taken.

Pushing open the door meant a slap of warm humid air in his face, and he breathed in the sweat-soaked evening. "Arthur?"

He spotted him walking and hurried to catch him. "Arthur."

Arthur didn't turn. "I'll see you at home, Mr. Eames." He shrugged off Eames' hand and picked up his pace. "I'm perfectly capable of getting there on my own. Full battery charge, and as you know, I don't get tired. Because I'm a synthetic human."

The words were thrown at him like knives and they cut as deep. "Arthur!" Eames tried to hold his wrist and Arthur twisted out of it. "Please stop. Please."

He could see the muscle in Arthur's jaw work as his fingers clenched and unclenched by his sides, but he drew to a halt. Chewing the words before he spat them at Eames, Arthur said, "I'm only stopping because you didn't command me to. What the hell do you want."

"I.." Eames stuttered in the face of Arthur's anger, "I wanted to talk to you."

"No. I mean, what do you _want_ , you asshole? I've been trying to be whatever that is. I tried to be the perfect android, a perfect different android, a boyfriend, and tonight, a creative being who generates art, otherwise known as a _human_. Because that's what I thought you wanted. But it turns out, you just want a _robot._ Well, fuck me for thinking you were telling me the truth. But I'm the prat, right?"

"Arthur!" Eames said, hurt. "I don't want a robot, I want you."

Arthur's face pinched closed and he looked like he'd been stabbed in the guts. "God damn you, Eames. God _damn_ you. I. Am. A. Robot."

"No," Eames said, a panic building in his chest. "No, you're…" he reached for Arthur's face. "You're more than that. You're mine. You're perfect."

Arthur wasn't impressed. "Except for all those pesky feelings, am I right? Soon as we can clear those up, I'll be just right for you. Huh? Is that it? So you don't have to have any? 'Here are these feelings I don't feel like feeling, let's not let anyone else feel them either.'"

"That's not what I meant, darling," Eames said, understanding flooding him. "I meant just the bad ones. The hurt, and the—"

"Hurt? You mean the hurt from when you hurt me? You made my chest ache and I thought there was something wrong with me, Eames. I thought I was broken. So now your solution is just to get rid of that sensation?"

Eames could only take so much condescension. "Darling, I don't know what's going on here. You were scared out of your mind when you got debris in you, and I had to deal with that. I was the one standing over your body, I was the one wearing a hole in the carpet while those idiots fixed you. Me. I don't think I could do that again, Arthur." He shook his head and looked at the ground. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. And now I have a chance to have suffering and fear taken away from you forever." He stared at Arthur, pleading with him to understand. "So that you never have to feel that way. What kind of person _wouldn't_ do that for the one they…"

He stopped and put his hands in his pockets. Then looked at the tips of his shoes.

"Yeah," Arthur choked out. "Poor you. Watching someone else's hands inside of someone else's chest. Must have been rough. Why don't you just force me? Command me to get those feelings removed, Eames, since I probably wouldn't handle them as well as you are. Go ahead. _Master_."

Eames drew back, stung, before his preternatural calm descended once again. "Well. What do you know. I guess you really are a robot."

Then he spun on his heel and headed back to the pub for his drink, and may a dozen or so more.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur moved faster than Eames thought he could.

"Eames," he demanded, vice-like grip on Eames' bicep.

Eames stopped, his body heavy, his eyes on the pavement. "What do you want, Arthur?" He couldn't bear to look in those brown eyes right now.

"My robot-ness is telling me it's going to start raining in two minutes."

Eames looked at Arthur while he pushed off Arthur's hand, gritting his teeth. "Great. That's bloody fantastic. Thanks for letting me know."

Arthur frowned. "You said, 'great,' but I realize you don't actually think that's great. I get that you're upset, but I don't understand why. Is this about me getting hurt? Is it the rain? Is it about me getting hurt by rain? Because I'm waterproof."

"Well, I'm not!" Eames exploded.

Arthur looked at him, clearly confused. "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm…" Eames blinked. "Oh. Well… my clothes aren't," he finished lamely, the wind taken out of his sails.

Arthur was still confused but laughing a little now. "Mine aren't waterproof either, Eames. And I'll wager mine are worth more." He touched Eames' bicep again, light and soothing, an entreaty. "But water only ruins my clothes. I'm worried this conversation ruining everything. I changed my mind, okay? We can ride home together and talk about this."

Eames shoved his hands back in his pockets and felt the first, fat drip hit his shoulder, a little vindictive, and a lot hurt. The cool shower came on fast, exactly when Arthur had predicted, a welcome drop in temperature along with it. Eames watched the water soak into the fabric of Arthur's suit and Arthur just waited, the drops hanging off the ends of his hair as the rain pushed it flat. He looked adorable, and strong, and vulnerable, all at once.

"Eames, this is important. I need you to understand because everything I am is in your hands."

Eames snorted. "That is absolutely not true, Arthur. It hasn't been true since day one. You are an individual, you have wants and you act on them. None of that has anything to do with me."

"But don't you see?" Arthur said, his eyes lighting up as he stepped closer. His hand pulled Eames in. "I could be more! I could have more! Mal has autonomy and sentience, and I…"

Arthur clenched his jaw and looked down, rivulets of water streaming off the tip of his nose. When he glanced back up at Eames, his eyes were frustrated and pleading. "It's because of what I am, Eames. And what I want to be to you. You said you didn't want me to feel pain. Fine. Stupidly noble and unnecessarily chivalrous, but thanks. However," he said, stopping Eames' protest with a look, "don't you want me to be able to know what brings pain and what doesn't? _You_ have that, and if I don't have that… Look. Before the debris. Before the repair techs and the hole in the carpet— you kissed me. Remember?"

Eames' tightened his lips. "Yes," he gritted out.

"And then you _apologized_ , and you _left_. And you hurt me."

Eames forced out another, "Yes."

"Did you mean to?"

Eames pulled back. "Of course not! You know I didn't. Are you saying you need pain receptors because otherwise I won't know if something I'm doing is hurting you?"

"I'm saying I need _feelings_ so that I can _feel things,_ Eames! I want you to kiss me. But if I hadn't felt like total crap after I thought you didn't want to kiss me, how would I have known that's what I wanted? Without emotional pain, how will I learn what's important to me?"

Rain ran down Arthur's face and Eames felt his chest ache. He surged forward through the downpour and cupped Arthur's face in his hands. Eames kissed him, hard and angry, and then pressed their foreheads together, eyes screwed shut.

"I will always want to kiss you," he forced out through his too-tight throat.

"Good," Arthur whispered, "but—"

"I know," Eames interrupted. "I'm not a complete idiot. You're right, okay? You're bloody right; of course you are. I just…" He sighed and pecked Arthur on the lips again, tender this time. "I just wanted to protect you. There's so much shite in this world, Arthur. And you're… you're not."

Arthur grinned at him, his dimples framed by Eames' palms. "Thanks. I don't think you're shit either."

Eames smiled, and then chuckled, and before they knew it they were standing in the rain, arms wrapped around each other, laughing and kissing.

"I'm sorry, yeah?" Eames whispered into Arthur's neck, and Arthur shushed him.

"It's okay," he said. "You're only human."

* * *

 _Two weeks later…_

Arthur was curled behind Eames, warm under the blankets, nosing into his hairline and sighing contentedly.

"Good morning," Arthur murmured, and Eames had to smile even though his eyes were still closed.

"You stayed."

"I wanted to."

Eames hummed, content to drift back off even if the sun was peeking through the curtains. "You still have that meeting with Dom today?"

"Yeah. He just wants to check the fittings and ask me some questions. Plus, I said I'd give him my input on some things he's got in the works. Mal apparently isn't interested in helping Dom tinker with the way things work."

"Mmm. 'kay," Eames said, pressing back against Arthur, just to enjoy the way their bodies fit together. "Oh, hello. That a banana in your pocket, love?"

"I don't eat bananas," Arthur said, "and I'm not wearing anything with pockets."

Eames grinned, his eyes still closed. "Feels like you're not wearing anything at all, darling."

Arthur's teeth nipped kisses into his shoulder. "That's not entirely true."

Eames was very awake after that.

* * *

 ***Ding! You have one! New! Voicemessage!***

"Eames, mate! Just calling to see if you've done with my jimmy, and can I get it back? Also, if you and your bloke want to stop by, we're playing poker on Friday. Cheers!"

 _Fin_


End file.
